


coffee

by Anonymous



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Cheating, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Joncer - Freeform, M/M, Mild Smut, POV Third Person, Panic at the Disco - Freeform, Ryden, Semi Slow Burn, Small age gap, Suicide mention, Top! Brendon, bottom! Ryan, gabilliam if you squint, sorta - Freeform, sorta angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 39,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24449260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ryan is a misanthropic Starbucks barista who is a tired insomniac and just wants to be left alone. Then Brendon moves in.this fic was originally published to livejournal by user "myheartradio" which you can find the original post here(https://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=myheartradio&keyword=myheartradio%20fiction&filter=all)
Relationships: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie, Spencer Smith/Jon Walker
Kudos: 12
Collections: Anonymous





	1. prologue

“Um, hi. Can I get a - uh - tall vanilla latte?” It’s this dumb looking kid that asks, with these big goofy lips and wide brown eyes and fucking stupid red glasses. Ryan scoffs, turning away from the stuttering moron.

“Um,” he mocks. “I’m gonna say no.”

“Why?” the kid asks, looking ridiculously wounded. Ryan wants to hit him.

“Do I look like I work here?” He sneers.

“Um. Yes? You’re wearing an apron.”

“Ever thought that I was maybe on my break?”

“You’re behind the counter!”

“And?” Ryan fixes the kid with his best withering look. The kid stares at him incredulously, big lips gaping open.

“Wow,” the kid says. “Were you born a jerk, or did you have to work on it?”

“I’m not a jerk,” Ryan snaps. “I just have a low tolerance for morons.”

“You don’t even know me!” The kid cries.

“But I know your type,” Ryan says.

“You are incredible,” the kid says. “Fucking incredible.” He gives Ryan one last disbelieving look, and storms out of the shop.

“And you know what?” Ryan yells after him. “Vanilla lattes are fucking girly drinks! Drink your coffee black like a man, you pussy!” Ryan tears off his apron, throws it on his hook, and leans against the counter. “God.”

“What’s up?” It’s Jon, tugging his hat on. He hasn’t shaved in at least a week, and that alone makes Ryan want to kick him in the shins. Just. Because.

“That - that kid,” Ryan says, gesturing wildly.

“What kid?” Jon asks mildly, tying on his apron.

“The kid! He was just in here.”

“Well. What’d he look like?”

“He was goofy looking. With, like, these ridiculous Angelina Jolie lips. And stupid brown eyes. And glasses.”

“Red glasses?”

“Yes! Stupid red glasses.” Ryan crosses his arms over his chest, but Jon is laughing at him, shaking his head. “What, Walker?”

“That’s Brendon,” Jon says, and watches Ryan’s face, waiting to gauge his reaction. It takes the younger boy a minute, but it finally registers.

“Brendon as in...”

“Yeah. Brendon as in our new roommate Brendon.”

“You’re kidding me,” Ryan says. “You’re kidding me, Jon Walker. You were watching the whole time, and now you’re just being mean.”

“’Fraid not, kid.”

“He is not living with us.”

“Um. He totally is.”

“I’ll kill him,” Ryan says, frantic. “I’ll kill him, and I swear, Walker, no jury in the world would convict me. He was all dumb, and like, stuttery. I hate stuttery people.”

“Stuttery isn’t a word, Ryan.”

“That’s beside the point!” Ryan cries. “He can’t live with us.”

“He was probably just nervous, Ry,” Jon reasons. “I told him you work here, and he probably figured out it was you.”

“He drinks vanilla lattes, Jon,” Ryan says. “Vanilla lattes.”

“I drink vanilla lattes,” Jon says.

“Yeah. But you have friggen facial hair.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Jon tells him. “I just want you to know that.” He starts walking away, but Ryan follows him.

“When I commit suicide because of this, you’ll be sorry, Walker!”

“At this point, I’m doubting it,” Jon laughs. “Now go read the fucking Bell Jar or something.” When Jon starts taking a customer’s order, obviously ignoring Ryan, the younger boy lets out a scream of rage.

“Fine,” he says. “I will.”

Jon just rolls his eyes.


	2. part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know,” Jon sighs. “But. I don’t want you to hate this. Because he is going to be living here, whether you like it or not. Because there is no way in hell I’m letting him live on the streets of this city. No way in hell.”

“So, um, your friend Ryan, like, hates me.” Brendon looks beyond distressed, and Jon just wants to put him in his pocket, take him home, and feed him, like, cookies.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Jon says carefully. “He’s just -”

“An asshole?”

“I wouldn’t have put it in those words exactly, but yes. Ryan’s an asshole.”

“Is he that way to everyone?” Brendon asks.

“Absolutely everyone.”

“Even you?”

“At this point,” Jon winces. “Especially me.”

“I can find somewhere else to stay, I guess,” Brendon sighs. Jon’s heart breaks a little bit.

“No, no, no,” he says. “It’s cool. Really. Ryan will just have to suck it up and pull his head out of his ass.”

“But -”

“No buts,” Jon says. “You seem like a good kid. You need a place to stay, and we have plenty of room. It’s fine, okay?”

“Okay,” Brendon smiles, and it looks like the entire weight of the world has been lifted off of his shoulders. “Okay, yeah. Thanks, man. Really. It means a lot.”

“It’s cool,” Jon says. “But, um, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you even need a place to stay. You can’t be older than eighteen, so why aren’t you living with your-”

“I’m seventeen,” Brendon says. “And they kicked me out.”

“Oh, um. Wow. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I just -”

“It’s fine,” Brendon shrugs. “If we’re going to be living together, you have the right to know, right? It’s like this. My parents are, like, super religious. Mormon, you know? And I just... didn’t believe in it anymore.”

“So they kicked you out?”

“Yep.”

“Oh man,” Jon murmurs. “God. You’re just a kid. That - that sucks.”

“It’s okay,” Brendon says, and then they fall into silence.

“So,” Jon says finally. “Do you like cookies?”

“Oh my God,” laughs Brendon. “Who doesn’t?”

\---

“Is he here?” Ryan asks. It’s late, past midnight, and he’s sitting at the kitchen table with Jon, sorting through the mail. Jon nods. “Jon,” Ryan begins.

“No,” Jon says. “Don’t you say a goddamn thing. You don’t even know, Ry.”

“Don’t know what?”

“This kid,” Jon says. “And he’s just a kid. He’s seventeen years old, and his friggen parents kicked him out.”

“So what, we’re a friggen orphanage now?” Ryan hisses.

“Oh my God. You are being such an asshole, Ryan. His parents are these weird religious freaks, and they kicked him out because he doesn’t believe in it. He’s seventeen, Ryan. Seventeen. Remember where you were when you were seventeen?”

Ryan wants to say no, wants to stop all over this entire thing, but Jon’s looking at him with pleading eyes, and he does remember. He remembers that he was in this exact same situation when he was seventeen, and not even he is asshole enough to throw the kid out on his ass.

“Fine,” Ryan relents. “I suppose he’s all moved in.”

“Yeah,” Jon says. “It’s not like he had a whole lot to move, though. He’s still in school, Ry, and he seems like a sweet kid. He’s not going to be a bother.”

“He’s paying rent?”

“Obviously,” Jon says. “He’s got a part time job at the Smoothie Hut or whatever. You probably won’t even notice he’s around.”

“I already said yes, Jon,” Ryan snaps.

“I know,” Jon sighs. “But. I don’t want you to hate this. Because he is going to be living here, whether you like it or not. Because there is no way in hell I’m letting him live on the streets of this city. No way in hell.”

“Woah, Papa Bear,” Ryan says, holding his hands up in defense. “Getting a little attached to our new friend, are we?”

“He’s just a baby, Ryan,” Jon shrugs. “We went through shit like that, and we’re fucked up. I don’t want this kid to be fucked up.”

“I get you,” Ryan says. “I get you.”

\---

Ryan is almost asleep when he hears the scream. Alarmed, he shoots out of his bed, and hurries into the hallway. Jon’s already there, standing in the doorway to the kid’s - Brendon’s - room. He glances at Ryan, wide eyed.

“Is he -?” Ryan asks.

“Nightmare,” Jon says. “This is your territory.”

“He’s not -” Ryan says. “I haven’t even, like, properly met him yet.”

“I know you’re not a cold hearted bastard like you pretend to be, Ryan Ross,” Jon says. “And I know you have a soft spot for shit like this, so deal with it. It’s not like you sleep anyway.”

“I was almost there,” Ryan groans.

“Like hell you were. Deal with it,” Jon orders, then wanders off back to his room. Ryan glares after him, then sighs and slips into Brendon’s room.

The boy is writhing on his bed, cold sweat beading on his forehead. This is something that Ryan understands, and even if he hates the kid, he feels bad for him too.

“Hey,” Ryan murmurs, sitting on the bed next to the boy. The mattress sags under his weight, and he touches gentle fingers to Brendon’s forehead. Brendon groans, then jerks from his sleep. “Hey. You’re okay.” But Brendon’s still shaking. He looks at Ryan with wide, scared eyes. Instinctively, Ryan wraps an arm around the shivering boy, and smiles when he feels the kid melt against him. “You’re okay,” Ryan whispers, running his fingers through Brendon’s sweaty hair. “I promise,” he says, pressing kisses against the boy’s forehead. “You’re okay.”

“Thank you,” Brendon says.

“It’s fine,” Ryan says, and tries to pull away, but Brendon grabs his arm.

“Stay?” He asks. Ryan nods, and slips under the covers beside Brendon. He wraps his arms around the younger boy’s waist, and Brendon does the same. They lie there, holding onto each other, until they both slip into sleep.

It’s the first time Ryan’s slept all month.


	3. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You and Ryan have a friggen kid.”

“Well this is unexpected.” It’s Jon Walker. Ryan hates being woken up by Jon Walker.

“They’re kind of cute, aren’t they?” And his side kick, Spencer Fucking Smith. Ryan loathes being woken up by Spencer Smith.

Both of them together, that’s just an extra treat.

“Huh?” Brendon mumbles, then shifts, elbowing Ryan in the stomach. During the night, they had moved so that Ryan’s head was resting on Brendon’s chest, and Brendon’s arms were wrapped around Ryan’s waist. “Huh,” Brendon says, looking down at Ryan. “You’re not my teddy bear.”

This is the part where Spencer laughs, and Ryan wants to disembowel him. With his bare hands, or a particularly dull spoon.

“Shut the fuck up,” Ryan snaps, glaring at Spencer. Brendon releases a quiet, breathless laugh above him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Brendon says. “You just look kind of, I don’t know, adorable right now. Like a puppy.”

Ryan stares at him.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says.

“And you’re not mean like I thought you were,” Brendon grins, poking Ryan’s nose with his index finger. Ryan scowls at him, then looks at Jon.

“Tell him, Walker,” he says. “Tell him how cruel I am. Tell him I’m malicious.”

“Ryan,” Jon says earnestly. “You’re cuddling with him. That negates anything negative I’ll say about you for the next two years.”

“I have to go to work,” Ryan says.

“No!” Spencer cries. “Wait. I have to get a picture of this.”

“Swear to God, Smith, you come near me with a camera and I will forcibly insert it up your anus,” Ryan says seriously. He slips out of Brendon’s loose embrace, and pads out of the room.

“Am I detecting a note of hostility?” Spencer asks Jon.

“I do believe you are,” Jon says.

“Going to work!” Ryan yells. “If Smith is here when I get back, you better hide the fucking knives.”

Spencer snorts.

“Didn’t pin you as one for the kinky shit, Ross,” he laughs.

Ryan slams the front door in response.

“Well,” Brendon says. “I’m going to say that went swimmingly.”

“For Ryan, yeah it did,” Jon says. He sits down next to Brendon. “But seriously, kid. You alright? You had kind of a rough night.”

“Oh yeah,” Brendon says. “Yeah. I’m totally fine. Just a bad dream. That’s not really a normal occurrence, just so you know.”

“First night in a new place,” Jon says. “Totally understandable.”

“Yeah,” Brendon murmurs. “Yeah. That was probably it. Um. What time is it?”

Jon glances at his watch and says, “Just after eight.”

“Shit!” Brendon cries, leaping out of bed. “I’m late for school!” He hurriedly shucks off his pants and digs around in the duffle bag next to his bed for clean jeans and a t-shirt. He races out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

“He’s still in school?” Spencer says. “Like. College?” They hear the shower turn on.

“Nope,” Jon shakes his head. “High school. He’s seventeen.”

“The fuck?” Spencer asks. “Where are his parents?”

“Kicked him out,” Jon says, and Spencer frowns.

“Damn,” he says.

“Beyond damn.”

The shower shuts off, and only a moment later, a soggy Brendon is hurrying back into the room. His new t-shirt is damp around the neck, and his jeans are clinging to his wet thighs as he searches for his backpack.

“Where?” He says, but Spencer is ahead of him, and hands him the bag. “Thank you,” Brendon says distractedly.

“Hey, um, I could give you a ride,” Spencer says. “I drive right by the school. You go to Paolo Verde, right?”

“Yeah,” Brendon says breathlessly, tugging on a sneaker. “But it’s cool. I can catch a bus or something. Thanks, though.” He runs a hand through his damp hair, frowns, then slings his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll um. See you after school.”

“You don’t have work today?”

“It’s Thursday?” Brendon asks, and Jon nods. “No. Work everyday except Thursday and Sunday. But I do have student council. So I’ll be here around, like, four?”

“You have your key?”

“Sure do.”

“’Kay. I think one of us will be here, but if not, um. There’s frozen... something in the freezer probably.”

“Okay. I’ll see you,” Brendon waves goodbye to both of them, and rushes out.

“Woah,” Spencer says. “He’s. He’s like a kid, Jon.”

“I know, dude.”

“You and Ryan have a friggen kid.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Jon says. “He’s practically an adult. He’s capable.”

“But you were being all. Father-figure.”

“Who offered him a ride?” Jon asks. “That would be you.”

“I go by the school,” Spencer defends. “I said that.”

The front door opens.

“Brendon?” Jon asks.

“Nope,” Ryan says, hurrying past Brendon’s room and into his own.

“What’re you doing back?”

“Forgot my keys,” Ryan calls. He comes into Brendon’s room. “So.”

“You and Jon have a kid,” Spencer says.

“Dude, I know. It’s beyond weird.”

“What were you doing in his bed?” Spencer asks. “Reading him a fucking bed time story?”

“Shut up. Kid had a nightmare,” Ryan shrugs. “He was seeking comfort and all that.”

“Ryan,” Jon says. “We have a kid, don’t we?”

“Jesus, I hope not,” Ryan says, sounding genuinely terrified.

“Why?” Jon laughs.

“’Cause he’s friggen gorgeous.”


	4. part three

It's Monday of week two, and things have fallen into place. The Ross-Walker-Urie household has settled into a groove of sorts, a weird groove, but a groove nonetheless.

That is, until, "Brendon Urie, please report to the guidance office. Brendon Urie to the guidance office." Mrs. Simard's smooth voice floats over the intercom, and it takes Brendon a second to realize that he is being called down.

“Can I?” He asks Ms. Vega, and she nods, waving her hands dismissively as she grades the Spanish III translations. Brendon nods, slings his bag over his shoulder, and hurries out of the room to guidance.

The guidance office isn’t so much an office as it is a large closet. A large closet that smells like Lysol and a dentist’s office. Mrs. Simard is at her desk, horn-rimmed glasses perched atop her nose, hunched over a stack of paperwork.

“Um,” Brendon says, and Mrs. Simard glances up. She smiles when she realizes that it’s Brendon and not a delinquent.

“Hello, dear,” Mrs. Simard says. “She’ll be out in a minute to get you. In the meantime, would you like a cookie?” She doesn’t give him a chance to answer, and thrusts out a plate of her coveted oatmeal raisin cookies at him.

“Uh,” Brendon says. “Thanks?” He takes a cookie, mainly to appease her, and thinks that he always did like Mrs. Simard. She’s nice and smiles at him and always smells like vanilla.

“Brendon?” It’s Mrs. Perkins, the guidance counselor. She’s wearing her rose sweater set and a wide smile, looking like the Teletubbies threw up all over her. “Come on in, kiddo!” Brendon hates Mrs. Perkins; she’s always heinously perky. And he fucking hates being called “kiddo”.

Brendon forces a smile, but he’s pretty sure it looks more like a grimace, and follows her into her office. He’s surprised to find Ryan and Jon sitting there, looking like nervous little kids. Jon looks at him and smiles unsurely, but Ryan just stares forward, his mouth set in a tight line.

“What are you guys -?

“I called them in,” Mrs. Perkins says, sitting down at her desk. “Have a seat, kiddo,” she says, and Brendon’s pretty sure his flinch is obvious. He obeys and takes the seat between Jon and Ryan. “I’ve called this meeting because this,” she gestures at the three of them. “Arrangement has be brought to my attention, and I’m afraid that I just cannot condone it.”

“What?” Brendon says. Jon puts a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, but Brendon shakes it off. “What’s wrong with it?” He demands.

“As a responsible adult,” Mrs. Perkins begins. “I cannot stand by and watch one of my students, a child, be put into an unsafe situation.”

“Unsafe?” Brendon says.

“He’s not a child,” Ryan growls.

“He’s certainly not an adult, Mr. Ross,” says Mrs. Perkins. “He can’t live on his own at his age.”

“He’s not living alone,” Jon says. “He’s living with us.”

“He should be living with his parents,” Mrs. Perkins sniffs.

“Well,” Ryan says, straightening in his chair. “His parents, who I’m sure are responsible adults like yourself, kicked him out of his house. So, really, I think he’s better off with us than he was with the responsible adults in his life.”

“Surely he would prefer to live with his parents,” Mrs. Perkins says.

“Well why don’t you ask him instead of talking about him like he’s not here?” Jon snaps, glaring at the woman before him.

“Brendon,” Mrs. Perkins says, her voice sugary and thick like maple syrup. “I can try to talk to your parents, change their minds. They’d take you back, I’m sure of it. Obviously you would be better off at home.”

“Actually,” Brendon says. “Seeing as they, you know, kicked me out in the first place, I’m gonna say that I’m better off right where I am.”

“Brendon -”

“I think this discussion is over,” Ryan says, wrapping his fingers gently around Brendon’s wrist. Brendon looks at him, but Ryan’s staring unyieldingly at Mrs. Perkins.

“Fine,” she says. “But I’m going to ask to have routine meetings with the three of you, and if Brendon’s work begins to slip, I will have to talk to his parents.”

“It won’t,” Brendon says. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” He looks at Mrs. Perkins with pleading eyes, and the woman visibly melts.

“You’re happy?” She asks, and Brendon nods emphatically.

“They’re,” Brendon says, gesturing at Jon and Ryan. “They treat me like an adult, not some stupid kid. My parents never did that. Things are good. They’ll be fine.”

“Well,” Mrs. Perkins says. “We’ll see.” She looks at Jon and Ryan, and says, “Please make an appointment with my secretary, and I’ll see you next time.” Ryan and Jon nod, and they push their seats back to leave. “And boys?” Mrs. Perkins adds, smiling a little. Jon and Ryan glance back. “Try not to blow up any toilets on your way out,” she says. Ryan and Jon look at each other, mouths pulled up into smirks.

“Every day’s a struggle, Mrs. P,” Ryan laughs.

“Toilet?” Brendon says. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jon grins, and they duck out of the guidance office.

“Tell me,” Brendon demands as Ryan talks to Mrs. Simard about an appointment.

“Oh, Mr. Ross,” Mrs. Simard giggles, her cheeks flushing prettily, and Ryan smiles, reaching his hand across her desk to take her own.

“The fuck?” Brendon says once Ryan’s returned to them.

“Which part?” Jon snickers.

“Were you just hitting on the guidance secretary?” Brendon blurts, and Ryan laughs.

“We used to have the biggest crush on her when we went here,” Jon says.

“Making up for lost time,” Ryan smirks, tossing one last flirtatious grin over his shoulder at the fumbling secretary.

“Wait,” Brendon says, and stops walking. “Hold up. You guys went to Paolo Verde?”

“You know the bathroom on the second floor?” Jon asks.

“The one with the missing toilet?” Ryan clarifies, and Brendon nods. “One of our better endeavors,” Ryan laughs.

“You blew up the toilet?” Brendon says, awed. “You guys are fucking legends!”

“I bet they didn’t tell you what we did with the pieces,” Jon says.

“Oh my God, what?”

“Glued them back together in a shockingly good likeness of Principal Strong,” Ryan boasts, sounding quite proud of himself.

“There are heroes in the world,” Brendon says, looking like he wants to hug Ryan, just to gain an ounce of the older boy’s utter awesomeness.

\---

It’s late, and Brendon is asleep in his room, snoring lightly. Ryan is sitting on the floor beside his bed, his eyes trained on the younger boy’s sleeping form. He trails a finger up and down the boy’s exposed forearm, but he isn’t crying. No, sir.

He can’t believe how close he came to Brendon being ripped away from him. Them.

“What are you doing?” And suddenly Jon is standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in his hands. Ryan jumps, then shrugs.

“Nothing,” he whispers, but keeps his eyes on the mug. It’s the mug he gave Jon last Christmas, the one with Rudolph on it that says, Rudolph’s Nose Is Flaming, You Guys Would Make Good Friends.

“Let’s talk,” Jon says, and Ryan nods.

They pad out into the living room, and plop down on the couch. Ryan instantly curls against Jon’s larger frame, and the older man runs his fingers through Ryan’s hair.

“Weird day,” Jon says.

“Weird day,” Ryan agrees, his voice muffled by Jon’s t-shirt.

“You okay?” Jon asks, and it takes Ryan a minute to respond.

“They were gonna take him away,” Ryan murmurs.

“They can’t.”

“But they were going to. They really were. You heard Perkins.”

“They can’t,” Jon repeats. “Okay? We’re a - we’re a family. And they can’t break up family.”


	5. part four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “’Kay. But I should warn you,” Spencer says. “Ryan has this tendency to do stage-dives when he’s drunk.”

Brendon wakes up to an armful of Ryan. The older boy is sleeping curled against him, snoring lightly into his t-shirt. Brendon smiles, rubbing the boy's back, then stretches his legs out.

"Ow," comes Jon’s muffled voice from the other end of the couch. The man leans up, looks sleepily at Brendon, then at Ryan, and smiles. “I should call Spencer.”

“He’ll kill you,” Brendon says, and Jon thinks about this for a second.

“Totally worth it, though,” he says finally.

“Leave him be,” Brendon murmurs. “He’s sleepy.”

Jon just smiles and says, “Fucking go to school, kid.”

It’s okay when Jon calls him “kid”, Brendon thinks.

\---

` When Brendon gets home from work, the apartment is empty. He looks around, poking his head into every room, but no one is there. Brendon frowns. It’s Tuesday, and Ryan’s shift ends at four, but there’s no sign of the older boy.

He calls Ryan’s cell, “Hey, um, Ryan? It’s Brendon. I just got home, and no one’s here, and I was just wondering where everyone is. Uh, call me back?” As soon as he hangs up, the front door clicks open. “Jon?” Brendon calls, and pokes his head out of his bedroom. “Oh. Ryan! Where were - um?”

Spencer’s in the doorway behind Ryan, an arm wrapped around the thin boy’s waist. Ryan is grinning sloppily, one lanky arm draped around Spencer’s neck. Spencer looks wholly unimpressed.

“Dumbass here got hammered,” Spencer says, and Ryan giggles uselessly. There’s something in Spencer’s voice that Brendon doesn’t like, something that scares him, something small and nervous and vulnerable.

“Is he,” Brendon says. “Um. Is he okay?” Truthfully, Brendon would love to boast about a superior knowledge of all things alcohol, but he his knowledge extends to the very basic lesson they had on it in seventh grade health. He blames his parents.

“He’ll be fine,” Spencer says. “Just. Can you, like, help me here? He’s not fucking feather light, you know.”

“Right,” Brendon says, and pulls one of Ryan’s arms over his shoulder. “To his bedroom?” He asks. Spencer nods, and together they haul Ryan to his room. Brendon tries to be gentle when he lays Ryan down on his bed, but the older boy is like dead weight, and just collapses onto the mattress.

“God,” Spencer groans, stepping back from the bed. He puts his hands on his lower back and stretches until something gives a horrifying pop. “Jesus, I’m old.”

“You can’t be older than twenty-three,” Brendon says.

“Do I look twenty-three?” Spencer asks, and Brendon shrugs. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, man. I’m only twenty!”

“Only?” Brendon says. “Twenty’s not an only kind of number, Spin. Hate to tell you.”

“Fuck you,” Spencer snaps. “Walker’s twenty-four.”

“Older than dirt,” Brendon says solemnly.

“Ancient!” Spencer cries. “And Ryan here is twenty-one.”

“Well at least this little dilemma is legal,” Brendon says.

“Thank God for small miracles,” Spencer nods. “I’m going to go scrounge up some Aspirin. Walker’s a boozer, so there should be something around.”

“Good to know.”

“I know, right? Anyway,” Spencer says. “Can you stay in here and keep an eye on him?”

“Yeah, sure,” Brendon says.

“’Kay. But I should warn you,” Spencer says. “Ryan has this tendency to do stage-dives when he’s drunk.”

“Like, for real stage dives?” Brendon gapes.

“Just watch him and you won’t have to find out, yeah?” Spencer says, but then he’s off in search of painkillers.

“Try not to break your hip out there!” Brendon calls after him.

“Fuck off, kid!” Spencer yells, and Brendon smirks.

At first, Brendon’s unsure of what to do. Ryan’s spread out over his bed, long legs tangled with his sheets. He looks peaceful, more peaceful than Brendon’s seen him look since he moved in. His rose petal lips are parted, releasing light, little breaths that move his chest. Brendon likes Ryan like this, quiet and still, with the worry lines that are normally etched into his forehead relaxed away.

“So,” Brendon says, and sits on the edge of Ryan’s bed. The older boy stirs, but doesn’t wake. Brendon’s fingers itch to brush along his jaw. “So I know that you don’t like me much, but I wanted to tell you that I really appreciate this. You letting me live here and stuff. I’ll never tell you to your face, because, you know, kids have pride too, but. Thank you, Ryan. I was... not in a good place before I came here. So. Thank you.”

Brendon’s a little disappointed when Ryan doesn’t respond, but he’s content to just sit with the older boy. Ryan makes ridiculously adorable noises when he sleeps, so adorable that Brendon thinks that they should be made illegal. The boy is a different kind of beautiful than Brendon’s ever seen, with sharp, rigged edges and a mysterious facade. He’s openly elusive, and it drives Brendon crazy.

“Hey,” Spencer says, and Brendon jumps. Had he been watching? Spencer ignores the younger boy’s surprise, and says, “Did you know that Jon hides his drugs?”

“I did not,” Brendon replies. “But I’ll file that away for future reference. Where were they?”

“In a friggen shoebox in the backyard. Like, seriously. Does he think someone’s gonna kife his friggen Advil?”

“Paranoia makes men do strange things,” Brendon shrugs.

“And apparently retardation has the same effect,” Spencer grunts, and pops open the bottle of Advil. “Any stage-diving?” Spencer asks as he places a glass of water on the bed stand.

“None, chief.”

“Good to hear,” Spencer nods. “Okay. Now the hard part.” He lifts Ryan’s chin up with his index finger, takes a deep breath, and bellows, “Ryan!”

“Wha?” Comes Brendon’s confused groan.

“Fucking wake up!” Spencer barks, shaking Ryan’s skinny form.

“Head hurts,” Ryan moans, weakly trying to pull out of Spencer’s grip.

“Spence,” Brendon pipes up. “I think he’s awake.”

“Oh,” Spencer says. “Okay.” He releases Ryan, who lets out a relieved sigh. “I have Aspirin,” Spencer offers.

“Ngh,” is Ryan’s only response.

“Hey,” Brendon says. “I think I can, uh, handle him from here. If you want to go home, you know?”

“Yeah, okay,” Spencer nods. “Jon’ll probably be home soon, but if he’s not and you need something, you have my number.”

“Okay, but I think we’ll be fine.”

“Alright, bub. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Bye, Spin,” Brendon says, then turns back to Ryan, who is asleep again. “Now what to do with you,” Brendon says, putting a hand on his hip.

He crouches down next to Ryan’s bed, gently touching the older boy’s shoulder. Ryan sighs in his sleep, leaning into Brendon’s touch.

“Hey,” Brendon murmurs, gently shaking the older boy. “Ry, wake up. Ryan?”

“What?” Ryan groans. “Brendon?”

“Hey.”

“I’m drunk?” Ryan asks slowly, his mouth stumbling over the words, tongue and teeth working hard to get the syllables out. Brendon nods. “Fuck,” Ryan laughs. “I hate being drunk. My dad was a drunk. I hate alcohol.”

“Then why drink it?” Brendon murmurs.

“I - I don’t know,” Ryan says. “It’s ‘cause of you, I think.”

“Me?” Brendon says, and sits down next to Ryan. Ryan curls against him, pressing his face into Brendon’s shoulder.

“Yup,” Ryan says, and Brendon can feel him nod fervently. “’Cause they were going to take you away from me.”

“From you?” Brendon teases.

“From me. Yep. And they can’t do that?”

“Why not?”

“’Cause we’re a family. That’s what Jon says.”

“Well. What do you say?” Brendon asks. “Why can’t they take me away?”

“’Cause you’re Brendon,” Ryan says, pressing his finger into Brendon’s chest. “And I’m Ryan. And we belong together, I think?”

“You think?”

“I really do. Really, really do. Really.” Ryan looks up at Brendon with wide eyes, and Brendon smiles.

“Good,” he says. “Cause I do too.”

“That’s good. Really, really good. Super, even.”

“Ryan. Go to sleep.”


	6. part five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was just gonna tease you, actually," Jon says. "'Cause, you know, you're a friggen pedophile."

"They're cuddle monsters. Complete cuddle monsters." Brendon is beginning to hate being woken up to Jon Walker's voice as much as Ryan does. He groans, burying himself deeper into the warmth of the bed.

"Is that him?" Asks a strange voice. Jon laughs.

"Yeah, Bill, that's him," he says.

"He's so cute," says the voice, Bill. "He's just a baby, Jon."

"I know, dude," Jon says. "I had to help him with his friggen biology homework the other night. It's ridiculous."

"Weird," Bill agrees.

"Oh my God," groans Brendon. "Will you people shut the fuck up?"

"Aw," coos Bill. "Cute and vicious. I like this kid."

"He's about as vicious as, like, a marshmallow." And that's Spencer; Brendon would know those bitchy tones anywhere.

"You know what, Smith?" Brendon snaps, finally opening his eyes and sitting up. "Fuck your mom."

"Precious," says Bill.

"Oh yeah, he's adorable," Spencer says dryly.

"Guys," comes a tired whine from beside Brendon. "Inside voices," begs Ryan. He's huddled close to Brendon's side, curled up into a ball against the younger boy.

"Seriously," Bill says, putting a hand to his head. "All of this preciousness is going to make me explode."

"It's already making me throw up," comments Spencer.

"Fuck you, Smith," says Ryan, stretching his lean body against Brendon's. Brendon shivers.

"That's my job," Jon grins wolfishly. Spencer's mouth drops open, and he looks at Jon with wide eyes. Jon just laughs as Spencer's cheeks redden.

"Oh my God," Ryan says, looking utterly traumatized. "Jon!" He cries, and Jon just laughs harder. Spencer hits him in the stomach.

"Alright, okay," Jon says. "That was tasteless, despite its truth. Now. You," he points to Ryan. "Need to get ready and go to work."

"Actually, Dad," Ryan says. "I think I'm gonna call in beyond hung over and scarred for life."

"Fine," Jon says. "We'll switch shifts." Ryan nods. "But you," Jon points to Brendon. "Have school."

"I can't call in scarred and sympathetically hung over?" Brendon asks hopefully.

"No," Jon says. Brendon pouts. "Not working."

"Are you heartless, man?" William says. "How can you resist that face?"

"I agree with the skinny kid," Brendon says, pouting harder.

"Ryan, back me up," Jon pleads.

"Give the kid a break, Jon," Ryan says, but he's clutching his head and looks like he wants to crawl into a hole. "He's been working super hard, he deserves a break. One day won't hurt."

Jon looks reluctant, but says, "Fine."

"Friggen sweet," Brendon says, collapsing back onto the bed. Ryan smiles.

"More sleep?" He suggests.

"More sleep," Brendon agrees.

"Before naptime starts, can I talk to you, Ryan?" Jon says. Ryan nods, and slips out of his bed.

"I should probably head back to my own room," Brendon says. Ryan stops in the doorway, turning back to him.

"Why?" He asks, sounding surprised. Brendon can't help but light up inside. "I mean. Like. You're warm," Ryan finishes lamely.

"Okay," Brendon says. "I'll stay." He snuggles into the covers, and when everyone's gone, he smiles to himself.

"You're so digging on him," William says once they're out in the kitchen. He points an accusing finger at Ryan, and says, "You love him."

"Shut up," Ryan says, but he's smiling. "Honestly, he's seventeen years old. Not my style."

"Well apparently you can make exceptions," Spencer says, looking amused as he leans against the counter next to Jon. "I saw the way you looked at that boy."

"Like he was the answer to all your prayers," William says dreamily.

"Oh, be quiet," Ryan says.

"Don't even try to deny it, Ross," Spencer says. "He's totally your Prince Charming."

"I'm older than he is," Ryan says. "Should I be his Prince Charming?"

"Age has nothing to do with it," Jon urges. "Besides, you're totally girl."

"I am not!" Ryan cries, crossing over his chest.

"Face it, Ross," William laughs. "You're gagging for it."

"I'm going change the subject now and ask Jon what he needed to talk to me about," Ryan says.

"I was just gonna tease you, actually," Jon says. "'Cause, you know, you're a friggen pedophile."

"Oh my God, I can't believe you just said that," Ryan pouts.

"I can't believe I didn't," Spencer says.

"I hate you all," Ryan says. "So now I'm going to go cuddle with my boy-toy." He turns on his heal and walks back to his room.

Brendon is asleep, his arms and legs tangled up in the sheets and his dark hair contrasts a halo with the white pillow case. His bee-stung lips are pouted, and his eyelashes create black fans against his milky, freckled skin. Ryan smiles to himself, crawling into bed beside the younger boy. He works his way into Brendon's arms, burying his face in the crook of Brendon's neck.

"Mmm," Brendon mumbles into Ryan's hair. "My favorite teddy bear."

And it's been a long time since Ryan's felt this full, and even longer since he's been ignited by another human's touch like this. It's a feeling he could get used to, a feeling that he hopes will never go away.


	7. part six

It's two days later, and Brendon's woken by Jon's yelling from the kitchen. Startled, he slips out of bed, poking his head out of his room. Ryan's standing in the hallway, watching Jon yell into the phone.

"He was sick," Jon insists, looking distressed. "No," he says. "No, no. You can't do that. Mrs. Perkins, please -"

"Perkins?" Ryan says in a low voice, his arms crossed over his chest. He leans against the nearest wall, but doesn't look at Brendon. Jon glances at Ryan, his eyes wide with worry, and Ryan stalks out into the kitchen. Brendon looks on helplessly as Ryan takes the phone from Jon's hand. "This is Ryan Ross," Ryan says. "Yes, Mrs. U- Yes, I understand. Of course, but please realize - no. No. Do you really think that's a wise decision?" Ryan's voice has a sharp edge to it, and it makes Brendon nervous. "Mrs. Perkins," Ryan pleads. "No," he says. "Okay. Yeah." Ryan hangs up the phone.

Jon collapses onto the couch, and curls into himself. He takes his head into his hands, curling fistfuls of his hair between his fingers, and bites back a sob. Ryan doesn't look at him, doesn't look at Brendon.

"This isn't happening," Ryan says finally, setting the phone back into its cradle.

"What isn't happening?" Brendon asks.

"They can't do this, can they Jon?" Ryan ignores the younger boy. "They can't, right? He can live on his own now, so they can't -"

"Can't what?" Brendon says.

"Bren," Jon murmurs.

"No," Brendon snaps. "No way, Jon Walker, don't pull this bullshit with me. You're going on about how I'm an adult, so treat me like one."

Jon and Ryan share a look, one of their looks. It's like their own secret language, one of tiny touches and full eyes. Brendon will see them, sitting next to each other on the couch, or across the room, and they'll just be looking at each other, discussing fucking Nietzsche or something.

"Stop!" Brendon shouts. "Stop with the looks, and just lay it out. I'm a big boy, you know."

"Bren," Ryan says. "Your parents called the school."

"My - really?" Brendon says. He feels like he should be elated, fucking overjoyed that his parents actually give a shit. "Why?"

"Perkins has been talking to them," Jon says. "Giving them updates, that kind of shit. She 'let it slip' that you were living here, and-"

"Naturally your parents didn't approve," Ryan scoffs.

"But they're the one that threw me out!" Brendon cries.

"Apparently they weren't anticipating you having your own mind," Ryan says dryly. "They expected you to go crawling back the same night."

"But I didn't," Brendon says.

"But you didn't," Ryan agrees. "You hung around in the fucking YMCA or wherever, and then you came here."

"The Orphanage For Refugees of Bad Adolescence," Jon pipes up.

"Right," Ryan says. "And, you know, as messengers of Satan, we're obviously going to corrupt you."

"You talked to my mom?" Brendon says, and Ryan can't help but laugh. "Oh man. She actually called you that? She hasn't called anyone that since I stopped hanging out with Brent Wilson in, like, ninth grade."

"Your mom hates us," Ryan says.

"My mom hates everyone," Brendon tells him. "It's very... un-Moron of her."

"It's very bitchtastic of her," Jon replies, then fixes Brendon with the most ridiculously serious look that the younger boy has ever seen. Brendon realizes for the first time that Jon’s not a kid, and neither is Ryan. They’re adults, for real, true-blue adults that have to deal with serious shit like this everyday. “Brendon,” Jon says. “Your parents, they want you to come back home.”

“So?” Brendon says, beyond apathetic. “Maybe they should have thought of that before they kicked me out.”

“Brendon,” Ryan says. “You don’t get it.”

“What’s to get? They kicked me out, they pay the price.”

“You’re a minor, Bren,” Jon says. “If you stay here, your parents could have us arrested for, like, kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?” Brendon says.

“Kidnapping,” Ryan nods.

“So. I have to go home. I don’t have a choice.” Brendon sighs. “This is shitty.”

“The shittiest,” Jon says. “But, like, look at the bright side. As soon as you’re eighteen, we’ll come bust you out of there. It’s not so bad.”

“Jon,” Ryan says. “You being all flowers and sunshine isn’t going to make this situation any better. Just let him mope.”

“Moping would be good,” Brendon agrees, and Jon frowns.

“Aw, kid,” he says, moving in to pull Brendon into a loose, one-armed hug. Jon presses their foreheads together, looking into Brendon’s eyes, relating a promise to the other boy. “This’ll work out,” he says. “I swear to you, you won’t be in that hell-hole for more than a week.”

“What’re you going to do, make them an offer they can’t refuse?” Brendon scoffs, but his voice is choked and his eyes are watery.

“We have... means,” Ryan says.

“I was joking with the whole Godfather thing,” Brendon says.

“We have this friend, Travis, and he’s a good guy to have on your side. Solid. He works for the police as a kind of underground cop, I guess. He could pull a few strings, talk to some people. That is, if this is what you want. If you don’t want to go back there.”

“I want to stay with you,” Brendon murmurs. “I. I can’t go back there. They - my parents don’t love me. They don’t know how to love me. I can’t go back. Being here, it’s the happiest I’ve ever been. I don’t have to worry about tip-toeing around all of these rules that I don’t believe in. I can be who I am, not who fucking Joseph Smith tells me to be.”

“Okay,” Jon says. “Okay. But, um. You’ll have to go back, just for a little while. Take what you really need, your text books, a few clothes. Either way it leaves you something to come back for. To.”

“I guess I’ll go do that, then,” Brendon says. “Pack, or whatever.”

“This’ll be okay,” Ryan assures him. “I give you my word.”

“I know,” Brendon says brightly, trying to ignore the tinge of doubt that laces his words. “It’s cool. It’ll be like a sleepover.”

“Right,” Jon says, and Brendon disappears into his room to pack, shutting his door behind him.

“Oh my God,” Ryan says, and hurries over to Jon, collapsing into the older man. Jon wraps his arms around Ryan’s middle, and buries his face in the crook of Ryan’s neck. “He doesn’t get it, Jon. He thinks this is going to be easy as fucking pie. He doesn’t get it.” At some point, Ryan had started crying big, fat tears that are leaking into Jon’s t-shirt. Jon’s crying too, and he can taste salt at the corners of his mouth.

“It’ll be okay,” Jon says, rubbing circles into Ryan’s back. “We’ll fix this, you know we will. We’re good fixers.”

“It’s gonna break him,” Ryan says. “It’s gonna fuck him up just like we were fucked up. It’s - it’s not fair, Jon. He’s such a good kid, how can they do this to him? They’re treating him like a little toy that they can play with.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Jon soothes. “Everything’s gonna be alright.”

\---

It’s the next day, and they’re all standing in the living room, trying to force the words to come out of their mouths. Brendon looks older than he should, his backpack slung over his shoulder and a suitcase in one hand. His eyes are dull, and there’s a tear in him that Ryan wants to take a needle and thread to. But he can’t.

“So,” Jon says finally, running a hand through his hair. He can feel the sharp sting of tears behind his eyes, but he has to keep them at bay. For Brendon. He figures, that once one of them starts crying, it’ll be a chain reaction. “Give us a call soon, as soon as you can. We’ll want to, um, check up on you, you know? See how you’re doing.”

“Right,” Brendon says. “I’ll see you guys soon, I guess.”

“Very soon,” Jon says, and pulls Brendon into a tight hug. In Brendon’s ear, Jon whispers, “You stay strong, kid. Don’t let them get to you. If you need anything, we’ll be there in a second. Anything at all.”

“Thank you,” Brendon says, and they break away. “Ryan?” He asks, and Ryan, who had been quiet up to this point, glances up. His eyes are red-rimmed and tired.

“I have to go to work,” he says, and hurries out of the apartment.

“Ryan!” Jon calls after him. Brendon just stares out the door.

“I figured that was coming,” he says.

“What?” Jon says. “No. Oh, no, Bren. He’s just. He’s fucked up about this. He’s - he’s scared for you. And. Ryan’s not good with goodbyes.”

“Or hellos,” Brendon smiles, remembering back to when they’d first met.

“Or hellos,” Jon agrees. “But. He figures that if he says goodbye, this whole thing is official. He’ll see you soon, and that’s all that matters to him.”

“I just, I wanted to tell him that I -”

“He knows,” Jon says. “He’d be an idiot if he didn’t, and Ryan is no idiot.”

“Right,” Brendon nods, and picks up his bags. “So this is... not goodbye?”

“This is soon,” Jon says.

“Not soon enough.”


	8. part seven

Ryan can’t sleep.

It’s been a week, one long, torturous week without Brendon, and he can’t sleep. He’s stretched out across his bed in the same shirt he put on four days ago, and the beginnings of a beard making its way along his jaw.

“Ryan,” Jon says, standing in the doorway of Ryan’s bedroom, arms crossed over his chest. He watches Ryan with concerned eyes, and when the younger boy doesn’t acknowledge him, Jon crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. “Kiddo,” he says, touching Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan opens his eyes, and looks at Jon.

What Jon sees in his eyes scares him. He knows that look, he remembers that look. Ryan’s default look from years ago, when Jon first met him. That same, strange hollowness had always been kept hidden behind Ryan’s eyes, but it had never been brought out again, not until now.

“Ryan,” Jon murmurs, brushing a strand of hair away from the boy’s face.

“I miss him," Ryan whispers, his voice dry and cracked from lack of use. He looks at Jon with those broken eyes, and Jon remembers this. All of this. "What if they're hurting him, Jon?" Ryan says. "What if they're-"

"They wouldn't," Jon tells him.

"How do you know?" Ryan asks. "They kicked him out, why wouldn't they hit him? Jon, I'm just - I'm just scared for him. I lived this, I lived the abandonment, and I ended up looking for that affection wherever I could get it."

"I remember," Jon says. "I remember that one guy."

"Insomnia Guy," Ryan nods.

"Gave it to you."

"Gave me more than that," Ryan says. "Fucking bruises and shit."

"That guy was an asshole," says Jon.

"Needless to say, it's not one of my happier memories."

\---

They crash through the front door, giggling drunkenly. Ryan doesn't even know the guy's name, he calls him Insomnia Guy. He doesn't really care much about names either, because Insomnia Guy is slipping cool fingers under his shirt, sliding it off over his head. Ryan gasps when his flesh meets the air, but Insomnia Guy is quick to make it better, dropping to his knees and laving his warm tongue over the exposed skin. Ryan stifles his moan, knowing that Jon is probably asleep down the hall, but when Insomnia Guy's hand dips into his jeans, wrapping around him, he cries out.

"Good?" Insomnia Guy smirks, in that awful, smug voice that Ryan hates.

"Shut up," Ryan replies breathlessly, pulling him up from his knees. Their mouths meet in a heated kiss, and Ryan tries to slow it down, make it less frenzied, but Insomnia Guy is already directing them to Ryan's room. "Wait," Ryan says, but Insomnia Guy ignores him, shoving him onto the bed.

"Quiet," Insomnia Guy tells him, crawling up onto the bed to straddle Ryan. He touches Ryan's cheek, smiling. "So pretty," he says. "Need to rough you up a bit."

"Stop," Ryan says, but the guy doesn't. He takes a fistful of Ryan's hair in his hand, and wrenches Ryan's head back, exposing the boy's neck. He latches his mouth onto the skin, creating his own marks there, making sure that people will know that this boy is his. "Stop!" Ryan cries. "No, no, no. I don't want this."

Insomnia Guy flips him over, holding his arms above his head at the wrist. He kisses down Ryan's back, and tugs down his jeans, revealing two, smooth pale globes of flesh. He grins to himself.

"Perfect," he tells Ryan. "Aren't you just the prettiest thing? Now comes the fun part." Ryan can hear him fumbling with his belt, ridding himself of his jeans.

"Stop," Ryan says, and the guy elbows him in the jaw.

"You don't want me to stop," Insomnia Guy whispers, too close in his ear. "It'll only hurt for a second." But it doesn't, it hurts a lot.

"Stop!" Ryan screams. "Jon, Jon!"

"Who's Jon?" Insomnia Guy sneers, tugging his hair, pressing his thumbs into Ryan's hipbones. "Your boyfriend?"

"Ryan, what?" Jon is standing in the doorway, and his eyes widen as he takes in the scene. Ryan's young face looking up at him with scared eyes, the hulking form of a stranger on top of him. Jon goes into survival mode. He races across the room, tears the guy off of Ryan's naked form, and throws him to the floor. "Get out of here!" He shouts, and the guy grabs for his clothes and scrambles out of the apartment.

"Jon," Ryan whimpers, trying to cover himself. Jon hurries over to him, scooping the younger boy into his arms. "Jonny.”

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Jon soothes, smoothing back Ryan’s hair.

Ryan is sixteen, and Jon is far too young to be dealing with this shit. 

\---

Brendon’s parents won’t talk to him. They haven’t spoken a single word to him since he arrived, and he’s starting to think that this whole thing is a little ridiculous. He’s starting to think that this will never be his home, not really.

It’s Sunday, church day, and Brendon is still asleep. His mother knocks on the door, but he ignores her. Her knocks are gentle and insistent, but he doesn’t care. Then come his father’s knocks, harder and more demanding, just like him. Brendon hates them, hates everything that they stand for, everything that they believe in. He hates that they’ve taken him away from his home.

“Brendon?” It’s his mother outside the door, sounding nervous. “Sweetheart, wake up, it’s time for church.”

“I’m not going,” he tells her, not even bothering to open his eyes. He can hear her falter, then call down the hallway for his father.

“Brendon,” his father says gruffly. “You get your ass out of bed right now and come to church with us.”

“Or what?” Brendon asks dryly. “You’ll kick me out?” His only response is the slamming of the front door downstairs. Brendon smiles.

He slips out of bed and rifles through his closet to find a clean pair of jeans. It feels strange to be pulling things out a closet instead of his dresser at home. He runs a comb through his hair, but eventually gives up on his efforts because there’s no point in trying to make his hair look decent. He hurries downstairs, out the front door, grabs his bike out of the garage, and pedals to Starbucks.

\---

The bell above the door rings, and Jon glances up from the triple shot espresso whatever latte that he’s making, and the breath catches in his throat.

“Ry,” he calls over his shoulder. “Ryan, come out here.”

“What?” Ryan says, poking his head around the corner. Jon points to the door, and Ryan’s heart stops for a second. “Bren,” he whispers.

And there Brendon is, looking fully intact, grinning at them with his head cocked to the side and light in his eyes. He waves awkwardly at them, and Ryan needs to hug him, needs to feel those arms around him. He needs to know that what he’s seeing is real.

He crosses the room quickly, his feet taking feather light steps. He’s walking on air, right into Brendon’s open arms. He presses his face into Brendon’s shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around the younger boy’s waist, delighting in the perfect solidity of Brendon’s body. It’s something tangible that he can feel, touch, hold. That he knows is there.

“You,” Ryan says, watching Brendon’s face, taking in the boy’s strong features, filing them away for the long road ahead.

“Me,” Brendon agrees. He smiles down at Ryan, looking beautifully serene with all of the worry creases in his forehead smoothed out. “I missed you,” he says.

“We - I missed you too,” Ryan says. “There was beyond missing. It was, like, amputation.”

“Nice imagery,” Brendon laughs, rocking them back and forth, and Ryan’s like a rag doll in his embrace, loose and easy. Effortless.

“I do my best,” Ryan says, resting his head against Brendon’s shoulder.

“Um, hi,” Jon says, stepping up next to them. “Could I maybe get some love?”

“As soon as you detach leach boy here,” Brendon laughs, and Ryan untangles himself from Brendon’s limbs. “Jon Walker, lay it on me.” And Jon does, tackling Brendon in a tight hug. “There we go,” Brendon says. “I’ve been going through Jon Walker withdrawal, and let me tell you, sir, cocaine detox is nothing.”

“You’d be surprised,” Jon says lightly, and Brendon doesn’t notice the sharp edge that knifes its way into his voice. Instead, he snuggles into Jon’s solid warmth, sighing contentedly like he’s just returned home. “So what’re you doing out, kiddo? They don’t have you under lock and key?”

“They’re at church,” Brendon shrugs, pulling out of the embrace.

“Ah,” Jon nods. “And you didn’t go with them?”

“Not my religion,” Brendon says. “Theirs. Not mine.”

“You gonna get in trouble for coming to visit Jonny-Buns and Ry-Ry?” Jon says, and Brendon laughs at the sheer absurdity of them. He shakes his head.

“No. I don’t know. Probably,” he says. “But it’s worth it. And soon it won’t even be a problem, right? So why bother following their rules?”

“Woah, um, kiddo,” Jon says. “About that. It, um, it might take a little longer than we thought it would.”

“How much longer?” Brendon says, glancing at Ryan, who frowns.

“Until April,” Ryan says. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“Nothing?” Brendon says, looking crestfallen. “Nothing at all?”

“Not unless they’re hurting you or whatever,” Jon says. “We’ve got nothing. But April 12, you’re all ours. Ours.” It’s a nice word on his tongue, smooth and sweet, and he wants to say it all the time.

“But can I wait that long?” Brendon says.

“You’re a tough kid,” Jon says. “You can handle their shit.”

“Right,” Brendon says. “Okay, yeah. What time is it?”

“Eleven,” says Jon.

“Fuck,” Brendon hisses. “I gotta head back there, they’ll be home soon.”

“Right, so um,” Jon says, scratching the back of his neck. “We’ll see you soon. Keep in touch, and all that. It’ll be good.”

“’Kay,” Brendon says, and wraps his arm around Jon’s neck. “All good?”

“Super,” Jon smiles.

“And you,” Brendon says, turning on Ryan. “You’re not running away this time. I want a hug this time, okay asshole?”

“Fine,” Ryan says, and he allows himself to be pulled against Brendon again, allows himself to melt into the embrace. “Love you.”

“I love you,” Brendon smiles. “I’ll be okay. Only a couple more months, then things’ll be good. Perfect, even. Normal, at least.”

“Okay,” Ryan says. “Yeah.” Brendon kisses his forehead, smiles wide at him, and slips out the front door with the tiny jingle of the bell.

It’s like saying goodbye all over again.

\---

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” Jon says, wrapping his arms around Spencer’s waist. “It’s just like, he’s my kid, and I did a shit job of protecting him from all of this. From everything that no one protected me against.”

“He doesn’t have all of that shit, though, Jon,” Spencer says, running his fingertips over Jon’s jaw. “He’s growing up in the fucking suburbs, not downtown Chicago. It’s a little different.”

“You don’t get it, Spin,” Jon sighs. “You had good parents.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says. “But Ryan didn’t. Who do you think Ryan came to when we were kids and he and his dad had a fight? Ryan might as well be by brother. He practically lived with us. I saw all of that.”

“From a bird’s eye view, Spin. You weren’t living it.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand it.”

“But you don’t,” Jon cries. “You don’t understand it. You couldn’t. How do you think this kid feels? His parents kicked him out, and now they want him back. How confusing is that? They’re toying with him.”

“Jon,” Spencer says. “He’s not going through what you went through. It’s different.”

“How is it different?”

“Because he’s not going to end up coked out in some alley, that’s how it’s different,” Spencer says, and freezes when Jon flinches.

“I can’t believe that just came out of your mouth,” Jon says, and gets up from the couch.

“Jon,” Spencer says. “I didn’t -”

“You didn’t what?” Jon snaps. “Mean it? Yes, you did, Spin.”

“Jon.”

“No. I don’t really want to talk to you right now, so I’ll see you tomorrow or something.”

“Jon, please.”

“Please what? Forgive you for being an insensitive asshole? I’m freaking out about this, Spencer, and you go dredging up the past -”

“Well that’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it? That he’ll get into drugs, fuck up his life? That’s what you’re scared of, right?”

“Get out!” Jon shouts, and Spencer recoils. “Get out, Spencer.”

“I love you,” Spencer murmurs. Jon doesn’t say it back. He buries his face in his hands, and when he hears the front door shut, he hopes that he hasn’t just pushed away the best thing he’s ever had.


	9. part eight

It's two weeks later that the daisies start showing up.

There's one stuck in the pocket of Ryan's apron when he gets into work. It's tiny and white and perfect, with the happy little sunshine middle smiling up at him. It's the best thing Ryan's seen in a long time.

"What's that?" Jon asks when he sees Ryan grinning at it. He's standing in the doorway of the "employee lounge", a steaming cup of coffee in his hands.

"Daisy," Ryan says, and shows Jon the little flower. Jon takes it between his fingers, twirling it gently by the stem. He smiles, and hands it back to Ryan.

"Cute," he says. "I always knew someone would mistake you for a lady and try to woo your pretty self."

"You have no idea," Ryan laughs. "It's becoming a problem."

"I can imagine," Jon nods. "So who did it? Secret admirer?"

"I don't know," Ryan shrugs. "We better get to work."

"Right."

The morning shift at Starbucks is understandably hell on earth. The corporate slaves come in in droves, all zombies without their caffeine. Ryan and Jon have learned to be affable to the customers that come in before ten; they tend to be cranky. The lull between then and the lunch rush allows for a certain relaxation, time for them to brace themselves for the next batch of chaos. Ryan hates the lull, he hates the time when his mind is unoccupied. When the shop is quiet, his thoughts always seem to wander to a young face and a halo of daisies.

\---

Spencer comes in a few days later around two, during Jon's lunch break. When the tiny bell over the door tinkles, Jon glances up from his magazine. Their eyes meet, and Spencer smiles awkwardly as he shuffles over to the counter.

"What can I -?" Ryan starts, but Jon hurries behind the counter, looking at Ryan significantly.

"I've got this," he says.

"Oh, um. Okay," Ryan says, eyebrow raised. "See ya, Spence."

“We’ll talk after?” Spencer asks, and Ryan nods, then slips into the lounge. “So,” Spencer says, looking curiously at Jon.

“What can I get you?” Jon asks, his voice professional and his face serious. Spencer frowns.

“The usual,” he mutters. Jon nods, and busies himself with making Spencer’s plain black coffee.

“You know,” Jon says. “I’ll never figure out why you come all the way to this Starbucks to get a four dollar cup of coffee when you could stop at about nine places on the way here.”

“This Starbucks has something that the others don’t offer,” Spencer murmurs, avoiding Jon’s eyes.

“Oh,” Jon says, smiling to himself.

“Do you love me,” Spencer whispers, so quietly that Jon almost doesn’t hear him. “I know I messed up, but -”

“You think that just because you said something I didn’t like I could - you think I could just stop loving you?” Jon murmurs. “You think I could just turn my feelings off over something stupid?” He watches Spencer’s face as he slides the coffee over the counter.

“I -” Spencer says. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” Jon replies, and Spencer blushes.

“Please,” he whispers. “Just - I need to hear you say it.” Spencer looks at Jon with pleading blue eyes, and the older man melts.

“I love you,” Jon promises. He steps out from behind the counter, and moves close to Spencer. He places a cautious hand at Spencer’s hip, and draws the younger boy closer to him. He rests his chin on Spencer’s shoulder, rocking them back and forth gently. Spencer wraps his arms around Jon’s neck, and presses their foreheads together. Staring into Spencer’s eyes, Jon murmurs, “I love you more than anything, Spencer Smith. More than absolutely anything.”

“Promise?” Spencer murmurs.

“I promise you,” Jon says fiercely. “I promise.”

“I just feel so bad,” Spencer says. “I know the kid is important to you, and you have every right to be worried. But I believe, I truly believe that he’s going to come out of this relatively unscathed.”

“How do you know?” Jon asks helplessly

“He’s got Ryan,” Spencer tells him. “He’s got something to wait for, something to look forward to. Kids don’t mess up their lives when they have hope. Ryan is the kid’s hope, every single bit of it.”

“But Ryan is,” Jon says. “He’s still not whole. There’s always going to be that part of him that flinches when people touch him, that fucking cries at night when he thinks we don’t hear. How can someone that’s still broken fix something?”

“You know how some rehab patients get plants?” Spencer asks, leading them to a table. Jon nods. “They’re fucked up, but they’re healing by taking care of something that isn’t full yet.”

“Are you comparing Ryan to a rehab patient?” Jon asks, a note of amusement in his voice. Spencer shrugs. “You realize that that’s beyond fucked up, right?”

“It was to get a visual,” Spencer says. “Leave me alone.” They laugh quietly, their thighs pressed together.

“Brendon’s been leaving daisies for Ryan,” Jon says finally. “I caught him once. He does it on the way to school, sticks them in Ryan’s apron, places where he’ll find them. I guess they’re like signs that the kid’s still alive or something.”

“Do you think Ryan knows?” Spencer asks.

“Somewhere deep down,” Jon nods. “I think he certainly hopes they’re from Brendon, because otherwise that would be weird.” Spencer nods, laughing. “It’s so sweet though,” Jon says. “You can see it in his face, he gets so excited when he finds that dumb little flower. He’s kept every single one of them.”

“That’s sweet,” Spencer murmurs.

“It’s sad is what it is,” Jon shakes his head. “Ryan isn’t... functioning. He just eats, sleeps, and works. The only thing that’s keeping him around is those stupid, little flowers. And - and I’m just afraid of what’s going to happen if they stop coming.” Jon sighs, low and heavy, and reaches over to grab Spencer’s hand. “All he does is cry, Spin. Seriously, I didn’t even know a person could cry that much. He’s two tears from dehydration! I don’t know what to do.”

“God,” Spencer murmurs. “Poor Ryan.”

“He adores the kid,” Jon says. “You can see it all over his face, and I just -”

“Hey, guys,” Ryan says, loping over to them. “Sorry to interrupt, but my shift is over, and I just wanted to say later.” He slumps his shoulders, and it’s then that Spencer notices how tired he looks. Deep, purple circles have developed beneath Ryan’s eyes, postcards of weeks of sleepless nights. He’s never seen someone look so broken up, so weighed down.

“You okay, Ry?” Jon asks, squeezing Spencer’s hand.

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “Pretty solid. Just tired, I guess. You know.” He glares at Jon a little, his eyes narrowing, searching for the truth in the older man's face. "What you said," Ryan starts. "About Brendon. Was that true?"

"Ry," Jon says.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you liked it being a surprise."

"I didn't like it being a doubt, though," Ryan snaps.

"Look, Ry -"

"I have to go find him," Ryan says, and rushes out the door.

\---

It's too warm out, Brendon decides as he mops stray beads of sweat from his brow. Even in the air-conditioned chill of the Smoothie Hut, it feels as though it's at least a hundred degrees out. He sighs, feeling the weight of the dry desert heat. It's heavy, far too heavy.

Brendon sighs again, leaning one elbow on the counter. There hasn't been a customer in hours, and he's slowly being bored into insanity. He's got the pins and needles feeling of restlessness poking irritatingly at the skull.

He digs deep into the pocket of his apron, and extracts a dainty white daisy. He smiles at it, at the thought of leaving it for Ryan to find. He just wishes he could see the older boy's face when he discovered the flower. He imagines Ryan's smile, loose and easy, effortless. He imagines the slender boy's eyes lighting up, the wide grin breaking across his face.

He misses Ryan desperately, but he thinks that it would hurt to see the boy's beautiful face. He remembers the underlying sadness in Ryan's eyes at their last meeting, remembers how hard it was to say goodbye. He can't imagine it getting any easier, especially with the image of Ryan's tiny mouth turned down at the corners burned into his memory. He hates that he caused the distinct lack of a smile on Ryan's face. He feels like he should be shot for causing the fragile boy to frown. He's a fucking monster is what he is.

Lost in his thought, Brendon doesn't hear the door open. He doesn't hear the delicate footsteps and the slap of beat-up Converse stomp up to the counter. He doesn't hear the disgruntled huff that sounds as Ryan Ross crosses his arms over his chest as he taps one scuffed toe impatiently.

"You fucking jerk," Ryan says, and Brendon glances up, dazed. "You've been leaving me flowers, asshole."

"I know," Brendon says, sounding very unsure of the situation. The murderous look on Ryan's face is making him nervous.

"I'm not a girl, Brendon," Ryan says, and Brendon really doesn't understand why Ryan is so angry.

"I never implied that you were."

"But you were leaving me flowers," Ryan grimaces. "Flowers, Brendon. That's just about as unmasculine as it gets.”

“You don’t like them?” Brendon asks, looking crestfallen.

“On the contrary,” Ryan sighs. “I love them. I’ve kept all of them, every single stupid daisy.”

“Okay. Now I’m confused,” Brendon frowns, raising one thick eyebrow. “Like, really, really confused.”

“A fucking daisy should not make me so happy,” Ryan explains. “My heart should not explode into a billion pieces because of a flower. But it does, and that is so stupid.”

“Was that supposed to, uh, clarify things?” Brendon asks, readjusting his visor, frowning.

“Yes,” Ryan nods. “It didn’t?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Awesome,” Ryan sighs. “Okay. How about this? Your little daisies, I live for them, Brendon. They’re a fucking lifeline. They’re all that keeps me going.” He sighs, running his hands through his hair. “I’m so bad at this.”

“You’re doing better than you think,” Brendon tells him, smiling gently. “You’re good with words. I’m good with, like, flowers. Mixtapes too, probably.”

“Brendon,” Ryan snaps, cutting off the younger boy’s rambling.

“Sorry,” Brendon says sheepishly. “Continue.”

“I know what I’m trying to say,” Ryan says. “I -” Ryan takes a deep breath. “Brendon, I like you. You’re kind of my favorite person in the entire world, and I like what you do to me. I like how you make me feel, and who I am with you. You make me feel better than I’ve ever felt. Ever.”

“That’s essentially what my daisies were trying to say,” Brendon smirks. “You managed to recite it back to me. I’m impressed.”

“You -” Ryan stammers.

“Duh,” Brendon rolls his eyes. “God, Ryan. I’m, like, the most obvious person in the entire world. You must be fucking obtuse.”

“What?”

“I gave you flowers, moron,” Brendon says. “I don’t know what alternative universe you’re living in, but in mine, flowers are a clear sign of Marry Me and Have My Children.” When Ryan blushes fiercely, Brendon relents, “Okay, yeah. You definitely don’t have the hips for child-bearing, and I happen to have a very low threshold for pain, but you get it. I was wooing you, dumbass.”

“You’re a right charmer, you are,” Ryan laughs.

“Admit it,” Brendon says. “You were thrilled. Your heart was all a-twitter, Princess.”

“Princess?” Ryan scoffs. “Seriously?”

“You are a pretty little thing.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended or, like, flattered.”

“I do tend to toe that line,” Brendon laughs. “But it was meant as a compliment. You really are ridiculously pretty for a boy. You’re fucking with me, Ross. I thought I liked girls, but then you come along, all androgynous and lovely. Fucked with my head, you did. You should feel guilty as the source of my sexuality crisis.”

“I don’t see you complaining too much, Romeo,” Ryan points out.

“Come on,” Brendon pouts. “Seriously. Romeo? Dude’s a cunt. The king of all douchebags. Can’t I be someone a little less... suicidal?”

“I guess you’re right,” Ryan yields. “Juliet was kind of a dumb bitch, too. I’m not too keen on being Juliet.”

“We could just be Brendon and Ryan,” Brendon says. “We could be our own epic love story.”

“Can we bring the cheese factor down a few notches?” Ryan laughs. “I’m dying here, lover boy.”

“I’d settle for Aladdin and Jasmine,” Brendon says. “’Cause Aladdin’s fucking awesome.”

“I’m a cradle robber,” Ryan says to himself. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“It’s my masculine charm,” Brendon says. “It gets ‘em every time.”


	10. part nine

Ryan wants to kiss Brendon. Right now. He wants those full, pillow lips pressed against his own. He wants Brendon's large hands settled on his hips, pulling the two closer together. He wants Brendon to sing him Frank Sinatra, he'd settle for Michael Bolton, anything. He's heard Brendon sing in the shower, and he thinks he could die happy if those velvety, dulcet tones were directed at him.

Then Brendon is saying his name, voice tinged with the barest hint of amusement. Ryan blinks up at the younger boy, and Brendon laughs. He's holding out his hand, waiting patiently for Ryan to accept it. His patience doesn't last long, and soon he grabs Ryan's hand, tugging the boy's slender form to him. Brendon's arms encircle Ryan's waist, holding him tightly in place. Ryan doesn't know what to do, and just stands there, wrapped up in Brendon's warm embrace.

"This is the part where you hug me back," Brendon says, brushing his lips gently over Ryan's cheek. "Let me know if I'm doing this right." His tone is teasing, but Ryan suddenly feels as thought he's being very frigid, and he hesitantly snakes his arms around Brendon's neck. "There we go," Brendon says, his lips curving up into a smile against Ryan's cheek.

"Just needed a little encouragement," Ryan says breathlessly. Brendon is kissing the skin beneath his jaw, innocent, feather-light kisses, but that doesn't stop Ryan's heart-rate from speeding up.

"Well in that case, I'm going to encourage you more often," Brendon laughs, and leans up to press a kiss to the corner of Ryan's mouth. Ryan's breath hitches, and Brendon pulls back. "Is that okay? Did I mess up?"

"No," Ryan laughs. "That's a good reaction." Brendon beams, lowering his eyelashes embarrassedly. "You don't have to be so gentle with me, you know. I won't break."

"I like being gentle with you," Brendon says. "You're like my little doll. You've got that sweet face, and you're all tiny and stuff."

"And what if I demanded that you be a little more bold?" Ryan asks. "What if I told you that you don't need to be careful." He watches Brendon's face carefully, taking in the full lips, the flushed cheeks, and he smiles. "Kiss me."

"What, like, now?" Brendon stammers, and Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Oh," Brendon says, then cups Ryan's jaw, tilting the older boy's face up. "Must obey her majesty's orders," he murmurs, and presses his lips to Ryan's. He smiles into the chaste kiss when he feels Ryan melt against him. "I've been wanting to do that for so long," Brendon mumbles against Ryan's lips. "Seriously. You would laugh at me if you knew how much I think about you. It's ridiculous."

"You're," Ryan chuckles, trying to shut Brendon up long enough to get his breathing in check. "You're really, really cute."

"Ryan Ross, you flatter me," Brendon coos, fluttering his eyelashes. "Truly. You know how to make a boy's heart beat fast."

"Yeah, it's a talent I pride myself on."

"I'm awfully glad, too," Brendon admits. "I like feeling this way. I'm all light-headed, like that time I got blood drawn at the hospital."

"Ever the romantic," Ryan says dryly.

"I was just trying to explain it using a metaphor," Brendon pouts. "Just 'cause I'm not friggen Shakespeare."

"Just stick to the daisies," Ryan advises. "And the kissing," he adds.

"The kissing is good," Brendon nods.

"Mmm," Ryan agrees. “Definitely stick to the kissing.” He lets out a delighted sigh as Brendon presses their lips together again, more confidently than the first time.

Ryan marvels at how warm Brendon’s lips are, so velvet soft against his own. He gasps when Brendon’s tongue boldly swipes along his bottom lip, but he’s silences when Brendon takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth.

Brendon, Ryan decides, is a fantastic kisser, definitely better than he expected. Ryan thought that he, being the older and more experienced of the pair, would have to do a lot of instructing. That is obviously not the case. Brendon has a well-developed technique, one that makes shivers roll up and down Ryan’s spine. The younger boy is confident, but always making sure that he’s being gentle. Ryan’s heart jumps at how tender his touches are, the way that Brendon’s hand cups his jaw, traces his cheekbones. It’s sweet how close Brendon is holding him, like he couldn’t imagine letting go.

The bell dings as the door opens, and the two leap apart, breathing heavily. Jon is standing in the doorway, Spencer in tow, and they’re both smirking.

“It’s love in bloom,” Jon sings, and Ryan blushes so hard that his face hurts. Brendon pats his shoulder consolingly.

“Shut up, Jon Walker,” Ryan scowls, and Brendon barks out a laugh beside him. Ryan glares at him, and says, “You, too.”

“You don’t mean that,” Brendon says. “You love me,” he teases.

“I’d love you more if you talked less.”

“There could be more kissing,” Brendon offers, and Ryan rolls his eyes. “Don’t deny it, Ross,” he says. “You want my bod.”

“Quite badly, actually,” Ryan says in a mock-solemn voice. “I honestly don’t know how I’ve managed to keep myself off of you for this long.”

“It must have been very difficult,” Brendon soothes. “I understand.”

“You got a good one, here,” Jon laughs, and Ryan blushes again.

“Yeah, well,” Ryan says. “Some of us get lucky.” He looks at Jon significantly, and Jon snorts. Brendon looks confused.

“You were talking about me, right?” He asks Ryan.

“Well, I should probably get him home,” Ryan says, ignoring the younger boy.

“Right?” Brendon continues, grabbing Ryan’s wrist. Ryan glances back at him, and smiles.

“Right,” he says. Brendon smiles, looking a little relieved.

“Just checking,” he says. He feels like he’ll probably never get used to this, this beautiful boy who actually likes him, but he’s certainly not going to argue, not when Ryan is slipping his long fingers through Brendon’s, guiding him out of the Smoothie Hut. “Is my shift over already?” Brendon asks. Ryan laughs as he gets in his car.

“Has been for about two hours.”

“But we weren’t kissing for two hours,” Brendon pouts, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“Your shift was over before I even got there,” Ryan chuckles. “And put your seatbelt on.

“Are we going home, oh exalted Overlord of Driving Safety?” Brendon asks, buckling his seatbelt.

“No, I’m taking you back to your parents’ house,” Ryan says, and Brendon frowns. Ryan glances over at him, and says, “I’m sorry.” He knows it doesn’t help anything, though. “It’s only a few more months.”

“Two months, fourteen days,” Brendon says. “I’ve been counting.”

“They say that patience is a virtue,” Ryan murmurs.

“Fuck them, then. They don’t have to deal with a set of crazy Mormon parents and a boyfriend that they can never see.”

“Boyfriend?” Ryan asks, his lips quirking up.

“Or, at this point, lack thereof,” Brendon scowls, mentally kicking himself for letting the word slip.

“Well, if that’s what you’d prefer,” Ryan says. “But I’d prefer saying that the dashing Brendon Urie is my boyfriend.” Brendon chokes beside him.

“Dashing?”

“I think you’re missing the point here, Bren,” Ryan laughs, rolling his eyes.

“Or maybe I’m trying to play it cool,” Brendon counters. “Maybe I’m trying to be suave and debonair.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Ryan snorts. “I never would have guessed.”

“Ryan Ross, you are a mean, mean boy,” Brendon pouts. “It’s an awfully good thing you’re so pretty.” He cocks his head, looking at Ryan, taking in the older boy’s delicate features. “You’re very pretty, you know. It’s kind of weird, not that I’m complaining. I’ve just never thought a boy was pretty, you know?”

“I’m not that pretty,” Ryan says. “At all.” He glances at Brendon, who is still staring at him, but with a surprised look on his face.

“You don’t actually mean that,” Brendon says. “You’re completely gorgeous. You’re just - you’re prettier than any daisy.”

“Bren -”

“No. I think we need to have a serious discussion about this. Are you completely serious? You don’t think you’re pretty?”

“Boys aren’t pretty, Bren.”

“You are,” Brendon points out. “But we can use the word attractive if it makes you feel more masculine.”

“Can we just drop it?” Ryan pleads.

“Oh my God,” Brendon says. “You’re serious. You don’t think you’re attractive. Why? Or, better yet, how?”

“Brendon, there’s a lot you don’t know about my past, a lot of things that have made me who I am,” Ryan says.

“Then tell me,” Brendon says. “I want to understand.”

“Brendon,” Ryan sighs. “It’s not that easy. You can’t understand.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been through some bad shit, Bren,” Ryan says. “You’re too young to really get it.”

“But I’m not too young for my parents to disown me,” Brendon whispers, his voice brimming with hurt. “I’m not too young for that.”

“Bren,” Ryan murmurs. “I didn’t mean -”

“I know. I just - you know all of my shit, but I don’t know yours.”

“I - not now Brendon. Things are good right now, really good. Let’s not mess it up, okay?” Ryan glances at Brendon with pleading eyes. “Please?”

“Fine,” Brendon says. “But one day? Soon?”

“I don‘t know. Maybe,” Ryan says. “It’s not a pretty story. I don’t like reliving it.”

“I’ll hold your hand,” Brendon offers. “If that’ll help.” Ryan smiles, and his heart swells at the younger boy’s sincerity

“Thank you,” he says, feeling his eyes mist a little. “That would help more than you know.” He reaches over, and grabs Brendon’s hand, lacing their fingers. Brendon beams. “You’re just - you’re beyond wonderful. I can’t even tell you.”

“I want to be wonderful for you,” Brendon murmurs. “I feel like you haven’t had a lot of wonderful in your life, and I want to make up for it.”

“You are,” Ryan says, and he is not crying, damn it. “You really are, and I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“This’ll do,” Brendon smiles, squeezing Ryan’s hand.

Brendon’s house comes into view, and Ryan is so glad, because he’s on the verge of tears. Brendon’s giving him the sweetest smile, and the adoration in the younger boy’s eyes is enough to break Ryan in half, rip his heart into shreds, because he’s never felt this good.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, hopefully,” Brendon says. “I’ll try to call, depending on what the wardens have to say.”

“Okay,” Ryan says, blinking quickly. “Good night.”

“What, no kiss?” Brendon pouts.

“Your parents -”

“Fuck them. I have a boyfriend, and I’m going to kiss him. A lot, if I have anything to say about it,” Brendon smirks, and Ryan can’t help but laugh. He leans over, and places a kiss on Brendon’s cheek.

“Get out,” he mumbles against Brendon’s skin, and he can feel Brendon’s pout.

“Tease,” Brendon mumbles, but complies. “Bye, Princess,” he waves. He stands in the driveway as Ryan, watching until Ryan’s car disappears. He smiles to himself, and whispers, “Boyfriend.”

-

When Ryan gets to work the next morning, there is a single red rose sticking out of the front pocket of his apron. Ryan spends fifteen minutes crying over it in the bathroom; it’s just too perfect.


	11. part ten

Things are good, they're ridiculously good, really. Ryan can't remember a time when he's been happier. He's sleeping well, his head filled with thoughts of dark eyes and full, smiling lips. Brendon visits the shop every day, leaves him flowers, calls him when he can. Brendon sings him to sleep, promises him things that he couldn't even imagine. It's heaven, a feeling he could certainly get used to. But all good things must come to an end.

It's nearly midnight when the phone rings. Jon is sleeping at Spencer's, and Ryan is watching Steel Magnolias because it's the only thing on. He heaves himself off the couch, and snatches up the phone from its cradle.

"Walker-Ross residence," he says.

"Mr. Ross?" A gruff voice asks from the other line.

"Yes," he says.

"This is Officer Hicks," the voice says. "I'm calling to inform you of an accident involving Brendon Urie."

"What?" Ryan says, and his heart is beating so furiously in his chest. "Is he?"

"He's been sent to Mercy Hospital," Officer Hicks says. "His friend told me that you were the one to call. The driver seems to have been intoxicated, and he lost control. Fucking kids and their drinking."

"Yes," Ryan agrees. "Thank you." He hangs up the phone, and wanders back to the couch. He can feel tears on his cheeks, and he brings a hand up to wipe them away. "Fuck," he says, and gets up to grab his coat from the closet.

He gets stuck in traffic on the way to the hospital; there's back-up from the accident. He passes a car, wrapped up around a fucking telephone pole, and bile rises in his throat. A horde of police officers circles the wreckage, all standing around looking useless. A blonde girl, Greta, if Ryan remembers her name correctly, is being interviewed by one cop. She looks nervous, like she knows she's done something wrong. Ryan decides then and there to kill whoever the fuck was driving that car.

Ryan parks his car in a handicapped space, he doesn't care. He runs up to the automatic doors, and hurries through, stopping at the receptionist's desk.

"Um, I'm here to see Brendon Urie," he says, tapping his foot against the linoleum floor. The receptionist glances up at him, looking tired. "He was in that car accident," Ryan says.

"Ah yes," the receptionist says. "If you'll just sit down. He's being examined."

"Right, okay. Thank you."

"He'll be fine, dear," the woman tells him in a sweet voice. "Didn't look too banged up when they brought him in. A few scratches at the most. Don't you worry, we'll take good care of him."

"Thank you," Ryan says again, and slumps down into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. He sighs, takes his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, and dials Jon's number. Jon's voice-mail comes up, and Ryan sighs again. "Hey, Jon, it's Ryan. You'd never guess where I am right now. Mercy. Brendon was in an accident, but the receptionist, in her infinite medical wisdom, thinks he'll be fine. I wouldn't worry yet, but either way you're probably too busy shoving your tongue down Spence's throat. I'll call when I find out more. Love you." Ryan snaps his phone shut, and waits.

Fifteen minutes go by before Brendon emerges, a slight limp in his walk, and a cut on his forehead. Ryan leaps up from his chair, and throws his arms around the younger boy. Brendon lets a quiet groan of pain, and Ryan steps back.

"Sorry," he murmurs, inspecting Brendon's face carefully. "So the cops said that the driver was drunk," Ryan says.

"Yeah," Brendon says. "Gabe." Ryan looks at Brendon, blinking back a fresh wave of tears.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Brendon?" Ryan asks, incredulous. "You got in the car with someone who was fucking intoxicated."

"I was stupid," Brendon says.

"You're goddamn right you were," Ryan cries. "You could have died, Brendon. Died. Do you realize that?"

"Yes," Brendon mumbles.

"And what would I have done then?" Ryan asks, collapsing against Brendon's chest. "What would I have done if something had happened to you? I fucking love you, you idiot."

"You love me?" Brendon stammers.

"Don't change the fucking subject," Ryan snarls. "Don't you dare. My dad was a drunk, Brendon. He was a drunk. Alcohol killed my dad, and it could have killed you too. I'm not losing two people to fucking booze."

"I'm sorry," Brendon whispers, and a tear streaks down his cheek. "I'm okay," he says. "I'm not hurt or anything."

"Not this time," Ryan says. "What about next time? Or the time after that? When's your number going to be up?"

"There won't be a next time," Brendon says. "I promise. I made a mistake, but I'll never make it again."

"You're goddamn right you won't," Ryan says. "You're smarter than that."

"Quit acting like you're my fucking father, Ryan," Brendon snaps.

"I'm not your father," Ryan says. "But I am your boyfriend. I care about you, and I can't - I can't lose you, Brendon. I can't." He's crying in earnest now, his face buried in Brendon's chest, voice muffled by his t-shirt.

"I love you, too, you know," Brendon murmurs. "I'm sorry."

"Let's just go home," Ryan says, wiping his eyes. Brendon nods, reaching out to grab Ryan's hand, but pulls away. Brendon frowns, but follows him silently.

-

Jon's sitting on the couch when they get home, and Spencer is at the kitchen counter, hands closed around a cup of coffee. They both look tired, nervous. Jon glances up when the door opens, looks at Brendon's face, then Ryan's.

"Got your message," he says to Ryan, then looks at Brendon. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah," Brendon mumbles. "Fine."

"So what's the story?" Jon asks.

"Got in a car with a fucking drunk driver and ended up wrapped around a telephone pole," Ryan says. Jon raises an eyebrow.

"Life lesson learned, eh?" He says.

"Are you a moron?" Spencer asks from the counter. Brendon looks at the floor.

"It was a mistake," he says.

"A pretty big one," Jon murmurs. "You fucked up, kid."

"I know," Brendon says. "I know I did, but I'm fine."

"Just - I'm going to bed," Ryan says.

"Ryan -"

"No, Brendon. I don't want to deal with this right now. Do you have any idea how fucking scared I was? I get a call from Officer Hicks saying that you're at the hospital, and I don't know if you're alive or if you've got fatal injuries or something. I can't take care of you, Brendon. I can't. You're right, I'm not your dad. You've got to be smarter than that."

"Ryan -"

"Jon, take him home," Ryan says. Brendon feels the world collapse around him.

"Okay," Jon says, and pulls himself up off the couch.

"Um, I love you," Brendon says. Ryan looks at him sadly.

"I love you, too," he says. "Don't call tomorrow." Ryan walks away into his room, and they hear his bedroom door slam.

"Don't worry, kid," Jon says, throwing an arm around Brendon's shoulder. "He's just freaked out. Let him sleep it off."

"I fucked up bad, Jon," Brendon says.

"Yeah, but it'll be okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise," Jon says. "Wanna come, Spin? I can drop you off at your apartment on the way."

"Nah," Spencer says, then swallows the remains of his coffee. "I'm just going to check on him."

"Okay," Jon says. "I'll be back in fifteen." Spencer nods, and waits for them to leave. He pads down the hallway, and knocks on Ryan's door.

"Go away," comes Ryan's muffled response.

"It's me," Spencer says.

"Fine," Ryan mumbles, and Spencer opens the door. Ryan is curled up on his bed, nestled into his covers. His eyes are red, and he looks genuinely shaken. "He doesn't get it, Spence. He doesn't get that he could have died."

"He's a kid," Spencer says. "Kids don't really understand their own mortality."

"But I do," Ryan says. "I just - I kept imagining, like, his funeral. I kept playing this scene over in my head, with the doctor coming over to tell me that he hadn't made it. And then I imagined wringing fucking Gabe Saporta's neck. Dumb little shit."

“He’s a kid,” Spencer repeats. “Kids are all fucking stupid. You know that. We were two of the stupidest.”

“Yeah. But he’s a good kid. Shouldn’t he know better?”

“You were a good kid,” Spencer points out. “And you still fucked up.”

“I know,” Ryan says.

“But this is different.”

“It really is, Spin.”

“You kind of love this kid, don’t you? Like, actual, true-blue love?”

“Is that stupid,” Ryan asks, sniffling quietly. “Is it dumb that I’m fucking head over heels for a high school student that lacks even an ounce of common sense?”

“No,” Spencer shakes his head. “Can’t help who you love and all that. Besides, he’s a sweet kid, despite his minor flaws. But come on, everyone makes mistakes. You can’t really hold this against him.”

“I guess you’re right,” Ryan sighs. “Do you think - could I maybe have a hug?” He sounds so shy that it makes Spencer smile.

“Scoot over,” Spencer says, and Ryan complies, making room for Spencer to slide into the bed with him. Spencer wraps his arms around Ryan’s waist, and Ryan snuggles into his side, sighing contentedly. “Does he make you happy?” Spencer asks.

“Very,” Ryan says. “It’s kind of ridiculous.”

“Good. You deserve someone that’s going to make you stupidly happy.”

“And Jon makes you happy?” Ryan says.

“Stupidly so.”

“Well aren’t we lucky?”

“I’d say so.”

-

It takes two days for Brendon to gather up the courage to go to the shop. He walks in, holding a bouquet of daisies in one hand, and his heart in the other. It’s busy, so Ryan doesn’t notice him at first. But then he glances up, eyes widening slightly, and then he looks away. When it’s Brendon’s turn, Ryan smiles, but only a little. Brendon takes it as a very good sign.

“What can I get you, Bren?” Ryan asks, and Brendon feels a lot better about things. “The usual?” Brendon nods, and Ryan calls over to Jon, “Get Brendon’s vegetarian, hippie shit,” and Jon barks out a peal of laughter.

Things feel really good.

“So I’m sorry,” Brendon says, stepping aside so the next customer can order.

“It’s fine, Bren,” Ryan says. “Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

“That sounds pretty fantastic,” Brendon smiles.

“Vegetarian, hippie shit up,” Jon calls from down the counter. Brendon’s grin widens as he walks over to pick up his drink. “Told you, kid. Princess over there adores you too much to be mad at you.”

“And thank God for that,” Brendon says. “I tend to make a lot of mistakes.”

“Ryan’s no angel himself,” Jon says. “Snores like a motherfuck.”

“I drool,” Brendon shrugs.

“Didn’t need to know that, darling,” Ryan laughs. “See if you’re sharing my bed anytime soon.”

“Ryan Ross,” Brendon gasps. “Must you talk about our bedroom escapades in public?”

“Or lack thereof,” Jon says dryly.

“Jon Walker,” Brendon pouts. “Your words, they wound.”

“Just so you know,” Ryan says. “You’re sleeping over tonight.”

“But my parents,” Brendon says.

“Lie,” Jon supplies.

“I am shocked,” Brendon frowns. “Shocked and appalled. You two are trying to corrupt me.”

“And we’re doing a damn good job,” Ryan says, placing a delicate kiss to Brendon’s cheek.

“Eh,” Brendon says. “I’m alright with corruption if it’s in the form of your lips on mine.”

“Gag,” Jon scowls. “Seriously. Kid has no game.”

“But he’s cute,” Ryan says, pinching Brendon’s cheek.

“Low-maintenance, too,” Brendon beams.

“Such a pretty pair you two make,” Jon says. “The princess and the puppy.”


	12. part eleven (i)

It's Friday, and Brendon is in fourth block Honors English, watching the clock intently as each second ticks by. He has seventeen minutes and thirty-three seconds until he is free. He taps his index finger restlessly against the faux-wood finish of his desktop, becoming more impatient with each mention of fucking Shakespeare. Honestly, he hates the English language sometimes.

Fourteen minutes even, and Brendon feels excitement well in his stomach. Tonight, he's spending the night at home, and he anticipates a whole lot of cuddling in Ryan's bed. He keeps going over scenarios in his head, imagining long, slow kisses and the tangling of their limbs. He still can't wrap his head around the whole boyfriend concept, or really the concept of a girlfriend. Ryan makes him feel like something other than the band geek, the dorky Mormon kid. Ryan ignores his ridiculous glasses and bad haircut, Ryan ignores his obnoxious laughter and bad jokes. Ryan makes him feel so, so special, and Brendon figures he’ll never be able to thank the older boy properly.

Mr. Simonds, as cool a dude as he is, needs to shut up. Brendon has a date, a fucking date, and he really can’t wait a whole lot longer, listening to a running commentary on Moby Dick. Shits becoming ridiculous, and Brendon is pretty close to banging his head against his desk.

The bell rings, and Brendon silently thanks whoever the higher power of homosexual sleepovers is. He gathers up his books, slings his bag over his shoulder, and practically sprints out of the classroom. He makes a quick stop at his locker, where, for the first time in his young life, he is accosted

“Hi, Brendon!” Chirps a absurdly high-pitched voice. Brendon turns around, and gets a face-full of a little blonde girl that he’s never seen in his life. He assumes that she’s a Freshman, and turns back to his locker. “So,” the girl says. “My name is Lauren. I’m in your band class,” she tells him, and he obliges her.

“Right,” he says, like he’s remembering her. “You play the uh -”

“Flute,” she supplies, and he nods. “And you play, like, everything,” she gushes. “Really well, too. I’ve heard you play the piano, and it’s probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well thanks, Lauren,” Brendon says. “Your flute playing is pretty swell too.” He’s mocking her, hardcore. He feels bad, because he’s never really heard her play the flute. He’s never even known of her existence until this moment.

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much,” Lauren prattles on. “That’s so sweet of you.”

“Absolutely,” Brendon says, shutting his locker. “So, Lauren, what can I do for you? I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“Oh,” Lauren cries. “Oh, of course you are. I’m so sorry. I’ve just been here talking your ear off, wasting your time.”

“Not at all,” Brendon drawls.

“You really are too sweet,” she says, touching his wrist. Brendon almost wrenches his arms back in surprise. “I was just wondering what you’re doing tonight. I know it’s short notice, but I was just wondering if you wanted to see a movie with me?” She bites her lip nervously, looking away from him.

Crap, Brendon thinks. Wouldn’t it figure that as soon as he comes to terms with his sexuality and gets a fucking boyfriend, a girl comes along and asks him on a date.

“Actually, Laur,” Brendon says. “Can I call you Laur?” Lauren nods emphatically. “I really would love to, but I’ve got plans with my, um, brother.”

“You have a brother?” Lauren asks, confusion knitting her brows together. “Your sister said she was your only sibling. We have Fashion and Fabrics together.”

“Right,” Brendon smiles, wanting to punch himself in the face for getting caught. “Well, when I said brother, I meant it in a spiritual sort of way. We’re all brothers and sisters when it comes down to it, right? Which would make us going on a date a big old display of incest.” He smiles, gesturing between them.

“Um,” Lauren says, smiling uncomfortably. “How about tomorrow, then?”

“The thing is, Lauren,” Brendon says amicably. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings or anything, but you aren’t Mormon.”

“Oh,” Lauren says, understanding dawning across her features.

“I just couldn’t bear it if I disappointed my parents,” Brendon continues, forcing dismay into his voice. “You’re a lovely girl, I can see that just from talking to you, but really. Stick to your own kind, you know? But if you were Mormon, Laur. Well, damn. I’d be on you like white on rice.” Lauren giggles at that.

“I understand,” she says. “I hope we can still be friends.”

“Definitely,” Brendon says. “But it’s going to be a challenge keeping my hands to myself,” he winks, and he’s sure that he sees Lauren blush. “But I really do have to go. Jon is outside waiting for me, I think.”

“Is Jon your brother?” Lauren asks.

“As good as,” Brendon says. “He’s truly like family.”

“Oh,” Lauren coos. “That’s so sweet.”

“It really is,” Brendon nods. “But I regret I must bid you adieu.” He bows, waving his arm in a flourish.

“Bye, Brendon,” Lauren laughs.

“Goodbye,” Brendon smiles, genuinely this time. Lauren seems like a sweet girl, and he kind of feels like an ass for lying to her. “Talk soon?”

“Definitely,” she says, and waves as he walks away.

Brendon makes quick business of navigating the halls to get to the main lobby. Ryan and Jon are leaning against the wall by the gym when he gets there. They’re looking around, seemingly nostalgic for the “good times” at Paolo Verde.

“Hey,” Brendon says, walking over to them. He notices that people are staying, and thinks back to the reputation as trouble-makers that Ryan and Jon has when they were students. He wonders if people remember them.

“Hey, kid,” Jon says, yanking him into a loose, one-armed hug. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Brendon says, holding up his backpack. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Jon crows. “Sleepover at the motherfucking homestead.”

“It’s how we roll,” Ryan offers, smiling gently. Brendon looks at him, taking in the ridiculous prettiness that is Ryan Ross. Ryan’s smiling, all soft lips and eyes, and Brendon just wants to like, steal him.

“We really are too cool,” Jon says. “It should be illegal.”

“That’s how I see it,” says Brendon, shrugging. He feels kind of self-conscious, though, because Ryan’s all gorgeous and stuff, and Jon has facial hair. He feels plain and unworthy standing next to them, high school legends in the flesh.

“Hey,” says some kid that always makes fun of Brendon. Ricky Hoyt, the fucker. “You’re Ryan Ross, right? And Jon Walker?” He asks.

“Uh,” Ryan says. “That depends.”

“On what?” Brendon asks amusedly.

“On whether or not any toilets have recently met their maker,” Jon replies, grinning.

“I knew it was you guys,” Ricky says. “I told you fuckers it was them,” he tells all his roid-raged football buddies. “You guys are fucking legends. You’re friends with Urie?” He sounds disbelieving, and it makes Brendon want to crawl in a hole and die.

“His name is Brendon,” Ryan says. “And yes. Kid’s cooler than you’ll ever be.”

“Ryan,” Jon chides. “Let’s not go picking fights with minors.”

“Fucking. I hate high school kids. You’re all retarded,” Ryan says. “Seriously. Get fucking lives and stop smoking pot. Maybe you’ll amount to something.” He shakes his head in disgust, grabbing Brendon’s elbow, jerking him away from the entire fucking football team. “Now I remember why I hated high school,” Ryan snarls.

“Fucking jocks,” Jon agrees. “I bet half of them will end up divorced and broke.”

“And the other half will end up in jail,” Ryan says. “Ignore them,” he tells Brendon.

“Well, generally they ignore me, so it’s not really much of a problem,” Brendon says.

“Still. They’re all fucking douches.” Brendon really likes how angry Ryan is, how protective he sounds.

They walk out to Jon’s car, passing by more students with gaping faces. Ryan just smirks, his fingers brushing along the inside of Brendon’s elbow. Brendon tries to keep the stupid grin from breaking his face, but it’s really becoming a struggle.

Jon is the most insane driver that Brendon has ever encountered. The dude has no respect for traffic laws, speed limits, none of it. They’re on a fucking forty-five mile an hour road, and the speedometer is reading eighty-two. Surprisingly enough, Brendon is not fearing for his life. It’s kind of outrageous how much he trusts Jon, but it could be the fact that Ryan’s body is pressed snuggly against his in the backseat, the older boy’s head resting gently on his shoulder.

“I’m exhausted,” Ryan gripes. “Hate it when mother’s bring their screaming kids into the Bucks. It’s an adult atmosphere for Christ’s sake.”

“Dude,” Jon says. “You have no idea. I picked Spin up from work one day, and you know how he works mornings at that fucking pre-school? Jesus H. Christ. I have never seen so many little ankle-biters in one room. The poor teacher looked like she was about to commit multiple counts of manslaughter.”

“I would,” Brendon pipes up. “I can’t stand kids. I have about seven trillion younger cousins, and you should see the Urie household on Christmas. It’s like Barney threw up all over the living room. I only ever contemplate suicide around the holidays.”

“Most people do,” Ryan says.

“But most people don’t have to deal with fucking Grandma Ruth and her drunken readings of scripture.”

“For real?” Jon laughs.

“Oh God. You have no idea,” Brendon says. “She gets so smashed and gets on the counter and recites passages from the Bible fucking verbatim. It would be cool if she were topless, not my grandmother, and like, a little less wrinkly.”

“Well that’s certainly an image I could have gone my whole life without,” Jon comments dryly, glaring at Brendon in the rearview mirror.

“Truly,” Ryan agrees. “Get the brain bleach.”

“Right,” Brendon scoffs. “Shut up, Walker. I’ve seen you and Spencer make out. That is a circumstance that calls for a brain bleach.”

“That’s true,” Ryan says. “I’ve never seen so much slobber.”

“You can both go to hell,” Jon says, pulling into the parking lot of their complex. “Just you wait. I will get my revenge.”

“Shaking in my boots, Walker,” Ryan says, sliding out of the car. “In my boots.”

“You’ll see,” Jon grins conspiratorially. “Spin’s coming over tonight. I told him to bring a camera.”

“Kinky,” Brendon smirks, and Ryan hits him in the stomach. Jon just laughs at them.

“So I assume I won’t see you two a whole lot this weekend?” He says.

“Only if you’re lucky,” Ryan says, and Brendon waggles his eyebrows. “Dumbass,” Ryan mutters. “Seriously, though. He’s mine. All weekend.” Brendon beams, pressing a kiss to Ryan’s cheek. Ryan blushes, looking down.

“Seriously,” Jon chuckles. “Too cute. Gonna hurl.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Brendon says, nuzzling his nose into Ryan’s shoulder. “Just because we’re more adorable than rainbows, puppies, and little furry bunnies combined. We understand, Jon. It’s a hard thing to compete with.”

“Spin and I could totally give you a run for your money,” Jon says. “But we’re a little more, shall we say, X-rated.”

“I’m totally calling your bullshit,” Ryan says. “Spin would have told me if you two had fucked. And so would you. So bull-fucking-shit.”

“You should hear Spin moan,” Jon smirks, walking into the apartment.

“God damn, man,” Ryan groans. “I’ve known Spencer since we were in diapers. Diapers. I do not need to hear about his bedroom life.”

“He lives a good one,” Jon says, and Ryan releases a frustrated scream. “Just saying.”

“I think we’re gonna leave,” Brendon says, taking Ryan’s hand. “Because I’m fond of you, Jon Walker, and I don’t want to see you die.” He leads Ryan into his bedroom, and closes the door behind them. “So,” Brendon says, rising up on his toes.

“Bed,” Ryan says, and toes off his shoes. He slips beneath the covers of his bed, and pats the mattress next to him. Brendon smiles, and slips out of his own shoes, sliding into the bed beside Ryan. Ryan’s quick to curl into him, nestling his head in the curve between Brendon’s neck and shoulder. Brendon fits his arms around Ryan’s slender waist, pulling the older boy closer.

“So,” Brendon says again. “All alone.”

“All alone,” Ryan smiles. “Well. Jon’s in the kitchen, but you get what I mean.”

“Totally,” Brendon says. “So are we -?”

“No,” Ryan shakes his head.

“Oh,” Brendon says, looking a little crest-fallen. “Um, okay.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Ryan tells him. “I just. It would be your first time, right?”

“Right,” Brendon nods.

“So it should be special. Like, really, ridiculously special. With rose petals and candles and fireworks, the whole nine yards,” Ryan says. “So if we’re going to do... that, it’s going to be when we’re both ready.”

“I’m totally ready,” Brendon says. “Born ready, even.”

“Bren,” Ryan laughs. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Brendon sighs. “I’m not really ready, I guess. And I’d probably be a disaster.”

“Based on your kissing skills,” Ryan says. “I’m inclined to disagree.”

“Really now?”

“Really. But I might need to take a refresher course on Brendon Urie’s kissing techniques.”

“Well isn’t that funny?” Brendon says. “I teach that exact course.”

“How convenient,” Ryan says, and leans up to fit his mouth against Brendon’s.

They kiss slowly, savoring the feel of the other’s lips against their own. Ryan shifts, leaning up more. Brendon places his hands at the older boy’s tiny hips, pulling him up until Ryan is straddling him. Ryan pull away, and Brendon takes a moment to beat the shit out of himself, but Ryan is smiling.

“Bold move,” he says, and Brendon stops breathing.

“Yeah,” he squeaks out. Ryan’s hands are on his shoulders, helping the boy to steady himself over Brendon. He leans down again, brushing his lips against Brendon’s.

“I like bold moves,” he says, then slides his tongue over the seam of Brendon’s lips. Brendon is quick to oblige him, opening his mouth to let Ryan’s tongue in. He’s still overwhelmed by the sensation of Ryan’s tongue against his own, warm and wet. He never thought he’d like this, but man was he wrong.

Ryan releases a soft moan from deep in his throat, and at first Brendon thinks he’s done something wrong, but then Ryan deepens the kiss even farther, dipping his tongue insistently into Brendon’s mouth. That’s quite alright with Brendon, who kisses back just as fiercely, threading a hand in Ryan’s hair. Ryan gasps quietly, smiling against Brendon’s mouth. He pulls away, pressing tiny kisses down Brendon’s jaw, then down to his neck. Brendon feels something wet against his pulse point, and then he realizes that Ryan is sucking on his neck, and oh God. He is beyond going to hell, and he’s completely fine with it.

Then comes the snap of a camera, and that obnoxious flash, and fuck. Brendon’s first and newly-formed hickey has been captured on Spencer Smith’s digital camera.

“You guys are so our bitches,” Spencer smirks, and Jon pokes his head out from behind him, grinning wolfishly. “Completely.”


	13. part eleven (ii)

"You know," Brendon says. "This is probably dumb, but when we go for, like, days without seeing each other, I miss you. I miss you so, so much." His arms tighten around Ryan's waist as he continues, "I just hate being without you. I know I'm new at this, but that's got to mean something, right?"

"Means you like me," Ryan laughs.

"Love," Brendon corrects. "I love you, and I know we've done the whole Love Epiphany thing, but I'm going to say it. A lot. Just to make sure you know."

"I do," Ryan says. "You know I love you too, right?"

"God, why else would you keep me around?" Brendon laughs.

"I can think of a couple reasons."

"Oh yeah? Do tell."

"No," Ryan teases, shaking his head, his hair falling into his eyes. "Wouldn't want to inflate that ego of yours."

"Well, then since you're so altruistic, I guess that means I can call you beautiful anytime I want," Brendon smirks, bending to kiss the tip of Ryan's nose. "Seriously. You are the prettiest. I'm so lucky that I can even, like, look at you."

"Shut up," Ryan blushes, burying his face in Brendon's chest.

"Nah," Brendon shakes his head. "Think I'll keep going. You're lovely, so very lovely." He brushes a strand of hair from Ryan's forehead, smiling at the older boy affectionately.

"You're sweet," Ryan smiles, touching Brendon's face. "I do love you, quite a lot."

"Be still my heart," Brendon gasps. "Did the lovely and delicate Ryan Ross just profess his love for the lowly Brendon Urie?"

"I do believe," Ryan says. Then, Brendon's face becomes very serious, his eyes darkened, and his mouth taut.

"I think we might need to get married," he says. Ryan grins up at him, laughing.

"Just say the word," he says.

-

Jon hates working the Saturday shift at the Bucks. All the little teeny-boppers come in with their oversized sunglasses and UGG boots, giggling noisily. They flirt with him shamelessly, and Spencer too if he's around. Jon hates slutty girls that hit on his boyfriend, but they come with the job. The Bucks is kind of a package deal.

He glances at Spencer, who is sitting at a nearby table, accompanied by a skinny blonde who is sitting far to close for Jon’s taste. Spencer shoots him a nervous, pleading look, and Jon growls, turning back to his customer.

Greta is the only girl Jon likes sometimes; she’s sweet and always pleasant. Jon’s always harbored a sort of crush on her, an appreciation of her angelic features. Greta smiles at him, and he feels his anger ebb away.

“Hey, Greta,” Jon murmurs, returning her smiles. The girl puts him at peace, her very presence calming him. He feels soothed.

“Hi, Jonny,” Greta chirps in her pretty, lilting voice. “How are you today? You seem a little tense,” she says. Jon shoots a dark look over to where Spencer and the girl are sitting, and Greta follows his gaze. “Ah,” she says lightly. “Bit of a whore, isn’t she?” She asks, her tone so conversational that it makes Jon laugh.

“Little bit,” he agrees, and Greta smiles.

“Well, not to worry,” she says cheerfully. “Not like his eyes are wandering, anyway. The boy is quite madly in love with you.” Jon rarely blushes, but he feels his cheeks heat up, and looks away.

“What can I get you, Greta?” He asks, and Greta smiles, obliging his change of subject.

“Non-fat vanilla crème latte made with soy milk, with some caramel drizzle, and room,” she says.

Now, Jon wouldn’t tolerate that kind of shit from anyone else, but it’s Greta, and he could never argue that face. He starts to steam the soy milk, and Spencer hurries over, looking traumatized.

“I need you to kiss me,” he tells Jon.

“Why?”

“You need a reason?” Spencer asks, incredulous. Jon just raises an eyebrow. “I told that girl over there I’m gay, and she doesn’t believe me.”

“But you’re wearing purple shoes,” Greta says.

“I know, right,” Spencer says, nodding emphatically. “So she’s all, well then go kiss your boyfriend, so, like, hi.” Spencer smiles hopefully, and Jon’s heart flutters, but only a tiny bit, he swears.

He leans over the counter, bringing his hand up to cup the younger boy’s cheek, drawing Spencer closer until their lips brush. Spencer sighs against his lips, and Jon smiles, pulling away enough to kiss the tip of Spencer’s nose.

The girl gasps from her table, and Jon smirks.

“I love you,” he says, just as Greta says, “Aw. Ow, guys. Seriously, that hurt my heart it was so cute.”

But they ignore her, smiling to themselves as Jon locks their fingers over the counter, squeezing hard to make sure Spencer knows he’s there.

-

Ryan is sleeping, bathed in warm, morning light, and Brendon might be staring at him. Never in his life has he seen something more beautiful, and it aches deep in his chest as he watches Ryan’s chest rise and fall with delicate breaths. He wants to touch the older boy, run his fingertips over every exposed inch of skin. He controls himself, though, not wanting to disturb the angel next to him. He’s content to just watch the boy sleep, be a voyeur on the display of beauty.

But Ryan can feel the younger boy’s gaze, and his eyes flutter open, focusing on Brendon’s face. He smiles sleepily, then nuzzles his nose into Brendon’s chest.

“Hey,” Ryan says.

“Hi, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine,” Ryan says, stretching his slender body against Brendon’s. “I’d rather be awake with you. Have you been up long?”

“No,” Brendon says, even though he’s been watching Ryan sleep for close to an hour. “Only a few minutes. Was just looking at you,” he smiles sheepishly, and Ryan laughs, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Brendon’s hair.

“Why?” Ryan laughs.

“’Cause you’re pretty adorable when you’re asleep,” Brendon says. “You make, like, these cute little noises. And you said my name. It was pretty much ridiculous how cute it was. You beat up baby kittens in the cuteness competition.”

“You’re weird.”

“And you’re cute,” Brendon says, tapping Ryan’s nose with the tip of his index finger. “I’ll try my hardest to forgive you, though.”


	14. part twelve

The Bucks is dead when the tiny bell above the door rings. Ryan doesn't feel it then, but change flutters in through the door with the beautiful guy that walks in. Ryan is momentarily distracted by golden locks and blue eyes. The guy smiles at Ryan, revealing a sparkling set of white teeth. Ryan looks for a second row; this guy is a shark, and Ryan is only a defenseless minnow.

"Hi there," the guy says. His eyes flick down to Ryan's name-tag, then back to his face. "Ryan is a really nice name. I'm glad I have a name to put to such a pretty face."

"Uh," Ryan says. "What can I get you?"

"Sean," the guys supplies. "My name is Sean."

"Right. What can I get you, Sean?" Ryan asks.

"Well," Sean smiles, reaching over the counter to brush his thumb over Ryan's cheek. "Are you on the menu?"

"N-no," Ryan stammers, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

"That sounds like a yes to me."

"But I have a -"

"Date with me tonight," Sean says, nodding. "Yeah, I know. I'll pick you up here around seven. Wear something sexy."

"Boyfriend," Ryan finishes lamely, but Sean is already leaving, twirling his car keys around his index finger. "Wait!" Ryan calls. "You didn't order."

"I got what I wanted," Sean replies, smirking as the door closes behind him.

"Well, fuck."

-

Ryan is on his break, talking with Brendon on his cell phone in the employee lounge. Brendon is talking animatedly about his day, but Ryan's mind is elsewhere.

"We hanging out tonight?" Brendon asks, jarring Ryan from his thoughts.

"What?" Ryan says. "Oh, uh, no. Sorry, Bren, something came up, and I had to take Jenny's shift tonight. Sorry," he adds, as though that would help get rid of the stench of betrayal.

"Oh," Brendon says, sounding loud-and-clear crestfallen. Ryan hates himself. "Well, that's okay. I'll just come visit you."

"Don't you have studying to do?" Ryan snaps. Brendon is silent for a minute, and Ryan is sure he's hung up.

"Did I do something?" Brendon asks, sounding genuinely confused. Ryan sighs.

"No," he says.

"Well," Brendon says. "Did you do you something?"

"No," Ryan says. Not yet, he adds silently. "Look, Bren, I gotta go, my break's almost over. I'll talk to you later."

"I love you," Brendon says, unsure.

"You, too." Ryan hangs up his phone, and promptly punches himself in the face. "You are an asshole," he tells himself.

-

Sean shows up at the Bucks at seven, and Ryan does not salivate. Or, at least he makes a solid effort not to. Sean looks good, impossibly good, and Ryan knows that this is not a good idea. He also doesn't care.

"Your chariot awaits," Sean says, pressing a warm hand into the small of Ryan's back. Ryan should flinch, pull away from the affectionate contact, but he doesn't. Instead, he leans into the touch, smiling up at Sean.

"Lead the way."

-

Somehow, they end up stumbling through the door to Ryan's apartment, lips locked, arms around each other's waists. Ryan suspects that the equation involved alcohol and the filthy things Sean whispered in his ear over dinner. He doesn't care.

They collapse on the couch, lips still sliding slickly against the other's. Sean's hands makes quick work of Ryan's t-shirt, warm fingers sliding over Ryan's stomach as they tug the tin material up and off of Ryan's slender torso. Sean grins down at him, feral and predatory.

"Gonna fuck you," Sean growls, low in Ryan's ear. "Gonna fuck you so hard, make you feel so good." He presses his palm into the bulge in Ryan's jeans, and Ryan arches up, gasping.

"God, yes," Ryan moans. "Please, please." Sean's lips attach themselves to Ryan's exposed throat as the smaller boy throws his head back.

"What do you want?" Sean asks, lips brushing over Ryan's skin. "Tell me what you want."

"Mouth," Ryan groans. "God, please. I want your mouth." Sean is quick to comply, fingers fumbling to unbutton Ryan's jeans. He slides the material down over Ryan's slender hips, and tosses them to the floor. Sean is pleased to find that Ryan, the dirty boy that he is, is not wearing underwear.

"Delicious," Sean murmurs, staring down at the smooth plane of Ryan's abdomen. Ryan has the decency to blush as Sean bows his head, licking a wide stripe from Ryan's collarbones to the valley of his hips. He takes Ryan's length into his mouth, sucking lightly on the head.

"God, so good," Ryan groans breathlessly. He fists his hands in Sean's golden hair. "Harder," he orders, and Sean complies, his mouth forming a suction cup of deliciously warm, wet sensation. Sean swirls his tongue around the head of Ryan's cock. "God, good - so good. Bren, God, Brendon. So close, Bren -"

The door opens, and Ryan's eyes fly open with it. He cries out loudly, in a mixture of pleasure as Sean sucks hard around him, and surprise as Brendon stares at them from the doorway. Ryan's mouth drops open as a spit-slick finger searches out his entrance, and slips in, curling to find the bundle of nerves that makes him writhe.

"Brendon!" Ryan gasps, and Brendon stares, his eyes filling with tears. "Sean - Sean, get off."

"S'what I'm doing," Sean says, pressing his finger in deeper. Ryan moans.

“Ryan?” Jon’s voice asks from somewhere behind Brendon.

“Bren,” Ryan whimpers, watching Brendon’s face.

“That your boyfriend?” Sean asks, pressing kisses against Ryan’s hip bones. Ryan tries to get up, but Sean holds him down. “Yeah? Is that your precious Brendon? You gonna moan for him while I make you come?’

“God!” Ryan cries out, his back arching as he comes in thick white streaks over Sean’s hand. He shakes on the couch as Sean licks the come from his fingers.

“Yum,” he smirks, getting off of Ryan. “Screams like a little bitch, your boy does,” Sean says. “Mind if I borrow him again sometime?”

And Brendon punches him. He just reels back, clenches his fist, and hurls his hand into Sean’s face. The satisfying crunch that follows should make him feel better, but it doesn’t.

“Brendon!” Ryan and Jon gasp.

“Get out,” Brendon orders Sean, and Sean takes the opportunity to stumble out through the door. “You,” Brendon snarls, thrusting an accusing finger at Ryan. “You, shut the fuck up.”

“Brendon,” Ryan whispers, trying to cover himself up. He feels horribly exposed as Brendon stares at him, glares at him, eyes penetrating and unforgiving. “Brendon, I’m -”

“Sorry?” Brendon cuts in, voice sharp and bitter snake venom. “Is that what you going to say? Because you sure weren’t saying that when you had his fingers up your ass.”

“Bren -”

“What were you thinking?” Brendon asks. “How could you do that to us?”

“I - I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer!” Brendon shouts. “Do you want to be unhappy? Was I making you unhappy?”

“No.”

“Then why him? Why someone that doesn’t give a shit about you? Huh? Why him?” The why not me is left unspoken.

“He -”

“I’m never going to be enough, am I?” Brendon asks. “I can make you smile and laugh, sure, but it’ll never be enough, will it?”

“Bren -”

“Do you want me to hurt you? Treat you badly?” He takes Ryan’s wrists in his hands, and wrenches the slight boy off of the couch. “Do you want me to hurt you?” He roars, throwing Ryan into the nearest wall. Ryan’s bare back slaps against the wall, and he cries out in surprise. Brendon pins his wrists above his head, and whispers in his ear, “This is what you’ve got confused with affection, but I can try to be an asshole if that’s what you want.” His fingers are closing bruises into Ryan’s wrists. “Is this what you want?”

“No,” Ryan sobs.

“Then tell me what you want,” Brendon says, releasing Ryan’s wrists. Ryan slides down the wall, curling into himself in a shuddering heap on the floor. “Tell me.”

“You,” Ryan whispers. “I want you. I want my Brendon. My sweet, gentle Brendon.” Ryan buries his face in his hands, and Brendon knees down beside him. He peels Ryan’s hands back from his face, lacing their fingers.

“I hate you right now,” Brendon says tenderly. “And I feel like I want to throw myself off of a building.”

“I hurt you,” Ryan sniffles.

“Think I’m bleeding,” Brendon admits.

“I’m horrible.”

“You really are.”

“How can you even look at me right now?”

“I’ll tell you, it’s tough. I really just want to break your pretty little face into a billion pieces.”

“So why don’t you? I deserve it.”

“I love you,” Brendon sighs, like it’s an affliction.

“We hurt the ones we love,” Ryan murmurs.

“Then you must really love me,” Brendon laughs, but it tastes like battery acid in his throat.

“I do,” Ryan swears. “I really do.”

“Ryan. I - I can’t do this,” Brendon whispers. “I can’t be with you.”

“What?” Ryan cries, and he hears Jon gasp from the doorway. “But you said you love me.”

“And I do,” Brendon says. “I did. But. I don’t think you love me. I’ll be around when you make up your mind,” he says, pressing a kiss to Ryan’s cheek. “Just - never forget how beautiful you are.”

“Brendon.”

“I’ll leave you be, now. Give you space, or time, or whatever it is that you need,” Brendon says, standing up. “I’ll always be around, though.” He walks over to the door, and smiles sadly at Jon. “Bye, Jonny. Tell Spence ‘bye’, too.”

“Brendon,” Jon says, and God, his chest hurts.

“Take care of him for me,” Brendon says, patting Jon on the shoulder. He slips out the door, and it’s only then that Jon allows a tear to slide down his cheek. He looks at Ryan, glares at the younger boy.

“I fucking hate you,” he says. “I will never forgive you for this.” He stalks off to his bedroom, and Ryan flinches as the door slams. It’s only a few minutes before Jon returns, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, leaking clothes. “I’m staying with Spencer. Fend for yourself.”

Ryan closes his eyes as the door shuts, shutting yet another person that he loves out of his life.

Back to square one.

-

The knocking on Spencer’s apartment door is rough and insistent; Jon’s knocking. Spencer smiles to himself, and cracks the door open, revealing a miserable and disheveled Jon. Jon’s eyes are red and tired from crying, tears leaking down his cheeks. Spencer frowns.

“Jon? Baby, what happened?” He asks, wrapping an arm around Jon’s waist. Jon looks at him with hollow eyes.

“Brendon broke up with us,” he whispers, and a loud sob pushes past his lips. “Brendon broke up with us because our best friend Ryan is a stupid, fucking slut.”

“Ryan?” Spencer repeats. “What did Ryan do?” Jon shakes his head, welling up again, and Spencer says, “Come inside.”

Jon allows Spencer to guide him into the apartment, and push him gently onto the sofa. Spencer sits down next to him, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close.

“Now, tell me what happened.”

Jon tells him, voice harsh at times, then thick and choked with tears. Each word hits Spencer directly in the chest, sending curls of agony shooting through him. His mind reels as he pictures life without Brendon, life without Ryan, life without either of them.

“Brendon... broke up with us?” He asks once Jon has finished. Jon nods.

“I can’t stay in that apartment,” Jon says. “I can’t stay there with Ryan and pretend like he hasn’t fucked everything up. I can’t pretend like everything’s good, like something’s not missing.”

“Everything’ll be better,” Spencer says, taking Jon’s hand in his own.

“I wish I could believe you.”


	15. part thirteen

The call comes on his birthday. Over the clamor, in the midst of the pandemonium that Bill and Gabe put together in celebration of his eighteen years, Brendon hears the obnoxious tones of his cell phone. He rushes, fucking runs, into the kitchen, where he left his phone, pushing past intoxicated party guests. He doesn't know what he expects, but he knows he can't miss it. He snatches up his phone, and presses the talk button.

"Hello?" He says breathlessly.

"Have you seen Jon?" It's not the soft monotone that Brendon had secretly hoped to hear, but Spencer's dulcet tones will definitely do.

"No," Brendon says. "It's been, what? Four months? I haven't seen him since... you know." He trails off, trying to block the memory of soft, pale skin and amber eyes. "Why?" He asks. "Is something wrong?"

"Jon's - Jon's not doing so well," Spencer croaks. "Hasn't been since you left. He's let himself get messed up on drugs again -"

"Drugs?" Brendon squeaks. "Again?"

"It doesn't matter," Spencer mutters.

"Of course it matters, Spin," Brendon says, and he swears he can hear a muffled sob from Spencer's end. "You don't know where he is? Not at all?"

"No," Spencer whispers.

"Well, have you asked Ryan?" Brendon asks, and he didn't expect it to hurt that much to say his name. He hates every letter, every syllable and sound, but most of all he hates how the word falls so perfectly from his lips. He tries to focus on Spencer's thick words.

"They, uh, they don't talk anymore," Spencer says. "Not since - Jon was just so mad, and."

"They aren't friends anymore," Brendon breathes.

"Jon has new friends now," Spencer says bitterly, and Brendon thinks, Herion. Cocaine. Oh, God.

"I'll help you look," Brendon says quickly.

"No, kid. You stay where you are. He might come to you."

"But - okay," Brendon says. "Okay. Spin?"

"Yeah, B?"

"I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Spencer says. "And, kid?"

"Yeah?"

"Happy birthday."

-

Ryan is burning his calendar. He's sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor in the empty living room, lighter in one hand, calendar in the other. The calendar is turned to April, with a big, red circle around the twelfth. He watches as the flames eat away until the circle, and the twelfth, are gone.

He smiles. Now it's complete; he has officially destroyed everything that meant anything to him. All that's left is himself. The gun is there, right in front of him, the note to his right, the rose to his left. A holy trinity of failure. The cuts have been made, leaking red down his arms, like red rain from the tips of twigs.

He picks up the gun, feels the satisfying weight in his hand, something tangible and substantial. This was always how he'd imagine killing himself when he was a kid, subjected to random fucks and a fuck of a father. He'd want to go out like a man, quick and dirty, a single bullet to the brain to turn out the lights.

The door bell rings, and Ryan drops the gun, lets it fall from his hands and clatter to the floor.

Ryan scowls, glaring at the door. He sighs, and it's probably dramatic, but he's really not in the mood to be saved. Hauling himself up off of the floor, he toes the gun underneath the sofa, the fucking sofa, and pads over to the door. His fingers the locks open, and wrenches the door ajar.

He half-expected Satan, but what he got was an angel.

Brendon's face stares at him, looking exactly the same as it had as when he'd last seen him, only different. Brendon's jaw is a tiny bit sharper, with the beginnings of stubble sprouting at the sharpest edges. His eyes are dark as they take in Ryan's appearance.

"You were going to kill yourself," he says.

"Yeah," Ryan whispers, and remembers the blood that's dripping from his arms and onto the floor.

"Well," Brendon says, unfazed. "That's going to have to wait. Jon's missing."

"What?" Ryan asks, his voice high with panic. "Missing? As in gone?" His heart drops as Brendon nods. "Is he okay?"

"We don't know," Brendon frowns. "Spin said that he's gotten himself back into drugs, bad crowds."

"What?" Ryan squawks. "No. That's impossible. Jon is - Jon's smarter than that."

"Circumstances change," Brendon murmurs.

"But - Spin doesn't have any idea where he is?"

"I don't think so. He's looking, I think, but it didn't sound like he was gonna tell you. And I - well, I thought you should know. And, you know, it didn't seem like the type of thing to say over the phone, so -"

"Thank you," Ryan says distractedly.

"I just - I either have ridiculously bad or ridiculously good timing," Brendon says. "I can't tell which at this point."

"Retrospect," Ryan shrugs.

"So, uh, I'll let you get back to it," Brendon says. "But, I'd just like to let you know, that if I find out you killed yourself, I will punch you in the face in the afterlife."

"Fuck you," Ryan snarls.

"Yeah, I love you, too, baby," Brendon laughs, because it's all just so funny. It's so, so hilarious how fucked up they are. One is missing, one is suicidal, the other two are on the brink of insanity. With friends like these.

"Brendon," Ryan murmurs.

"Yes, dearest?"

"Happy friggen birthday."

Now, Brendon has never had a door slammed in his face, but this is exactly how he imagined it. The sharp sting of rejection in the pit of his stomach, the blurred vision. Yeah, he always thought he had a vivid imagination, but he was spot-fucking-on.

Ryan waits inside for the sound of Brendon's footsteps moving away from his door, and once they fade away, he falls to his knees in front of the sofa, and digs underneath. His fingers wrap around the gun, and he pulls his arm back, smiling contentedly. The gun, since he bought it, has become an extension of him. His one salvation, maybe, if he were in the mood to wax poetic.

He presses the barrel to his temple. His finger is on the trigger. He's ready, he's so, so ready.

The doorbell rings.

"Fuck!" Ryan screams, and throws the gun, sending it skidding across the floor into the kitchen. He stalks over the door, and throws is open. "The fuck do you want, Brendon?" But it's not Brendon.

"Thought I saw him," Jon says, his voice just on the edge of a slur. "He looks different."

"He looks the same," Ryan says. "You're just high."

"You're probably right," Jon says thoughtfully. "Always right." Jon leans in, and Ryan isn't sure if he's going to collapse or not, but then warm lips are pressed against his own. It's perfectly familiar, with the slow slide of Jon's chapped lips against his. Ryan remembers this, and he pushes away.

"Spencer," he says, and Jon shakes his head.

"Ryan," he mumbles, and dips his head for another kiss.

"Jon," Ryan whispers, denying him. "Brendon. I fucked this up already."

"So there's nowhere to go but up," Jon says, sliding his arms around Ryan's waist, pulling him closer. He presses his nose into Ryan's shoulder, and whispers, "Missed you."

"Loaded words," Ryan replies.

"Mmm," Jon agrees. "Missed this," he says. "You. How you feel. Soft."

"Jon," Ryan pleads. "You're high."

"Very."

"This isn't like how we were," Ryan says. "We're not... lovers anymore. We aren't together."

"Neither are you and Brendon," Jon points out, wrapping strong hands around Ryan's forearms, pulling them up around his neck.

"No, but you and Spence are."

"Haven't seen Spence in two weeks," Jon mumbles, kissing a line up Ryan's jaw. "Why're you bleeding?”

“I’m trying to commit suicide here, and you’re just putting the moves on me,” Ryan snaps, and when Jon doesn’t let up, he shouts, “Fucking stop!”

“Suicide?” Jon asks hazily, pulling away from Ryan. “Like, for real?”

“Fucking. Yes,” Ryan says, beyond exasperated. He stares at Jon incredulously, and says, “I’m calling Spencer.”

“Can we just, like, have sex? Please?”

“This is not fucking high school, Jon. I’m not sixteen anymore, and you aren’t eighteen. We are adults, so sober up and get the fuck over it.”

“We aren’t friends anymore,” Jon whispers.

“That was your decision, not mine,” Ryan says. “I made a bad decision, and I’m paying for it. You made your decision, and you’re paying for it.”

“But we aren’t friends, Ryan,” Jon says. “How did that happen?”

“I was a moron.”

“I was a moron, too.”

“Okay, so now that we’ve established the fact that we’re both idiots, can I go back to ending my life?”

“I don’t think so,” Jon says, shaking his head. “You could try, I guess. But I don’t think it’s as easy when you have an audience, and I’m not leaving.”

“I’m going to call Spencer,” Ryan says. “I’m going to call Spencer so he can come and collect your intoxicated ass and throw you into rehab, and then I’m going to get this the fuck over with.”

“I want to kiss you,” Jon says, pressing his lips to the corner of Ryan’s mouth. “I love you,” he says. “So, so much.”

“You love Spencer,” Ryan says. “And I love Brendon.”

“You fucked that other guy,” Jon says, voice tinged with venom beneath the dullness of intoxication. “Some love,” he scoffs.

“If you were sober and not my best friend, I would beat the living shit out of you,” Ryan says. He pads over to the phone, long disconnected, even though he still pays the bill, and snatches it out of its cradle. His fingers dial Spencer’s cell phone number, the familiarity of the action swirling in his mind.

“Hello?” Comes Spencer’s voice, and Ryan might want to cry.

“He’s here,” Ryan says. “Trashed, obviously, but relatively unscathed.”

“Ryan?”

“Just come get him. Get him out of here.” Ryan hangs up the phone, and turns around. Jon is right there, eyes wide and teary.

“I don’t like myself very much,” Jon says.

“I don’t like you very much either right now, to be honest.”

“I hate that we’re not friends,” Jon sniffs. “I hate that you fucked up, and I hate that I fucked up, and I hate us.”

“We’re terrible,” Ryan agrees.

“I’m breaking up with Spencer,” Jon says.

“I’m breaking your jaw.”

“No, no. Hear me out. I’m not good.”

“You’re quite good,” Ryan argues. “The best.”

“But Spencer is better.”

“Well,” Ryan says. “Spencer is perfect.”

“You’re perfect,” Jon says, hand cupping Ryan’s cheek.

“Shut up.”

“Beautiful.”

“Spencer is beautiful,” Ryan says.

“I know,” Jon nods. “But not like you. You’re all... delicate and pretty.”

“I belong to Brendon,” Ryan says.

“Even if he doesn’t belong to you?”

“Even then. Maybe especially then. And whether you like it or not, you belong to Spin, and he belongs to you.”

“But -”

“No,” Ryan says. “We’re bad enough separate, together, we’re like a ticking time bomb. We had that, Jon, and we decided it was better this way. You met Spencer, and you met your salvation. Remember how quick you cleaned up after you met him? It was, like, instantaneous.”

“Not clean now,” Jon mutters.

“That’s ‘cause you’re just ridiculously fucked up. We both are.”

“I love Spencer,” Jon says, and Ryan nods. “You really want to kill yourself?” Jon asks, eyes sobering for a minute, clear and clean.

“Very badly. I’ve never hurt so bad as when I saw Brendon today. He was... perfect, and I haven’t showered in a fucking week, and I don’t eat or sleep. I’m -”

“Disease.”

“Pestilence,” Ryan agrees. “He’s better off without -”

The door opens, and Spencer rushes in, runs across the room, and throws his arms around them both, dragging the three of them into a heap on the floor. He’s crying, they’re all crying, a shaking tangle of legs and arms, knotted fingers.

“I fucking hate both of you,” Spencer sobs, his face buried in Jon’s shoulder, arms wrapped tight around Ryan’s waist. “You are ruining our lives, and I hate you.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, pressing a kiss to Spencer’s exposed collarbone. “That seems to be the consensus.”

“Plague,” Jon adds, and Ryan nods.

“Infection.”

“Shut up, both of you,” Spencer says. “Cure. My cure. Our cure.” He’s crying so hard that his words are in jumbles, tiny fragments of sentences. “Missed you so much,” he whispers, kissing at Ryan’s mouth. Ryan kisses him back, friendly and light, sinking into the familiarity of it.

“Love you,” Jon addresses them both, and they nod against him, clinging.

“You called Brendon,” Ryan says to Spencer.

“And Brendon called you?”

“Visited,” Ryan says, and Spencer’s eyes widen. “I’m in love with him.”

“He hates you.”

“Fucking should,” Jon supplies, and Spencer punches you.

“Just like I hate you,” he snaps, but Jon kisses him, long and slow, and Spencer forgets his anger momentarily.

“Did you punch me?” Jon asks against his lips, and Spencer nods. “Christ, I’m high. I didn’t even feel that.”

“Get you cleaned up,” Spencer mumbles. “Ugh, both of you. God, Ryan, when was the last time you took a shower?”

“That’s a good question,” Ryan says, and laughs quietly. “I’m going insane. I feel insane. What does it feel like to be insane?”

“It hurts, I think,” Spencer says.

“I hurt. So bad,” Ryan whispers, looking at Spencer with miserable eyes. “I need him. Did I take too long to figure that out?”

“I hope not,” Spencer says. “For all our sakes, I hope not.”


	16. part fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan was so happy, he had it all, and he threw it away. He took the lover, the best friends, and the wonderful life, and he flushed it down the toilet. But the repercussions might be worse than he expected.

It's Brendon that Jon calls two nights later, far past midnight, when the blinding, dizzying pain becomes nearly unbearable. He means to call his dealer, he means to give up on getting clean entirely, but Blake looks so much like Brendon in the dark.

"Hello?" Asks Brendon's tired voice, and it might be better hearing that than heroin could ever be.

"Brendon?" Jon says, because he hurts, and he's so confused.

"Jon?" Brendon whispers. "Jon, is that you?"

"Brendon," Jon sighs, like he's just taken a particularly good hit.

"Jon," Brendon says. "Jon, where are you? I'll come get you, just tell me where you are."

"M'at home, it’s okay.”

“You’re at the apartment? Is Ryan there with you?”

“Spencer, too.”

“Put one of them on the phone, alright, J?”

“Okay,” Jon says, then takes his mouth away from the speaker to shout, “Ryan!” Then he says into the speaker, “Ryan’s coming.”

“He’s still alive?” Brendon asks, trying to sound indifferent, and Jon nods to no one.

“Jon?” Ryan asks, poking his head into Jon’s bedroom. “It’s, like, two in the morning. What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s on the phone for you,” Jon says. Ryan raises an eyebrow, glancing at Jon’s cell phone.

“Who?” He asks.

“Secret,” Jon says, and hands the phone to Ryan.

“Hello?” Ryan says hesitantly, ready to punch Jon if he’s playing a joke.

“Ryan?”

“Bren?”

“Is Jon okay?” Brendon asks, trying to wrench the knife that stabbed through his heart at the sound of his nickname.

“Oh. Yeah, he’s just detoxing.”

“From the drugs,” Brendon says.

“From the drugs.”

“Do you want me - uh, should I come over?”

“If you want to,” Ryan says. “Yes. He - we - miss you, and I think it might be good if he saw you. For morale, you know?”

“Give me five minutes,” Brendon says, and hangs up. Ryan hits the end button, and looks at Jon.

“Brendon’s coming for a visit,” he says, and Jon beams.

“He misses us!” He cries, delighted. “He really does.

“Well,” Ryan says. “He misses you. And Spencer.”

“He misses you the most, I think,” Jon says.

“I don’t think so,” Ryan mutters. “I’ll just step out while he’s here. Spencer will be around if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Jon frowns. “But I think he’d like to see you.”

“Yeah, well,” Ryan says. “He wasn’t too keen on seeing me the last time.” Jon frowns at the disappointment that tinges Ryan’s voice, and Ryan shrugs. “It’s okay.”

“Well,” Jon murmurs, cringing as a wave of nausea rolls through him. “Be careful. It’s late, so stay close.”

“Hey,” Ryan says. “Who’s taking care of who here?” He puts his hand on his hip, and pretends to look offended.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jon scoffs. “Big, strong Ryan taking care of poor, frail Jon. Because that’s likely.” Ryan glares, shaking his head, and bends down to kiss Jon’s cheek.

“I’ll be home soon,” he says, and leaves the room. He pads out into the living room, and tugs on his shoes. After sliding into his coat, Ryan opens the door, just as Brendon raises his arm to ring the doorbell outside. They stare at each other, taking in the other’s surprised expression. Brendon coughs uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Erm, glad to see you,” he says. “That you aren’t dead, I mean.”

“Yeah, well,” Ryan shrugs. “I hope you didn’t lose sleep over it.”

“You know I did,” Brendon murmurs. “What made you change your mind?”

“Circumstances changed,” Ryan says, and Brendon is eating his own words. “Jon came back, and you were around again...”

“I was always around, Ryan. I told you that I would be.”

“The fuck you were. You weren’t around when Jon was destroying himself.”

“Neither were you,” Brendon comments lightly.

“Not by choice.”

“This was all your choice!” Brendon shouts. He takes a deep breath, and runs a hand through his hair. “Look,” he sighs. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Right,” Ryan nods. “You came to see Jon. He’s in his room. Spin’s around if you need anything. I’m just gonna step out -”

“You don’t need to leave on my account.”

“I just thought -”

“I’m going to hug you now,” Brendon says, then closes the space between them, and wraps his arms around Ryan’s waist. Ryan stiffens a little at first, but the relaxes into the embrace. “Forgot what this felt like,” Brendon sighs.

“I didn’t,” Ryan whispers. “Thought about if every day for the past four months.”

“Don’t lie,” Brendon growls quietly in Ryan’s ear, but he’s clinging onto the older boy like he’s a lifeline.

“M’not.”

“God, I missed you,” Brendon says. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

“I’m in love with you,” Ryan says. “And you hate me, you should hate me, but I am still so in love with you.”

“It’s been four months.”

“You’ve found someone else,” Ryan whispers, revelation hitting him, blinking back tears. “Wow. I’m retarded. I’m - wow, I’m sorry. I mean, of course you moved on. Why wouldn’t you -”

“I never stopped loving you,” Brendon cuts in. “I might have hated you for a while, but I never stopped loving you.”

“You - oh, wow.”

“We’re going to get back together,” Brendon says unworriedly. “We both know that we’re inevitable. It won’t be now, not when things are so fucked, but when the dust settles...”

“Yes,” Ryan nods. “Yes, okay.”

“Tonight, I’m going to stay here, at home,” Brendon says. “We’re going to share your bed, probably kiss, out of habit, and we’re going to let things get back to normal.”

“Okay,” Ryan nods dumbly.

“Now, let’s go see Jon, the stupid bastard,” Brendon says affectionately. He pushes passed Ryan, and meanders into the apartment. “Jon’s room is still the farthest down, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ryan answers, and Brendon wanders away down the hall, leaving Ryan standing in the open doorway. He closes the door, and hears a muffled cry of joy that he recognizes as Jon, and an answering laugh from Brendon. Spencer pokes his head out of Ryan’s room, and looks questioningly down the hall.

“Brendon’s here?” He asks.

“Came to see Jon,” Ryan replies.

“And you’re here?” Spencer says, genuinely surprised. He slips out of Ryan’s bedroom, and walks out into the living room.

“We’re getting back together,” Ryan says. “Eventually, when shit’s calmed down. And things will be normal again. Jon will be sober, you’ll be happy, and Brendon and I will be back together. And things’ll finally be good again.”

“He told you that?”

“Well, the first part. He said we’re inevitable, which, you know, we kind of are. The rest I kind of inferred.”

“But that’s good,” Spencer says. “Right?”

“I couldn’t even begin to tell you how good it is,” Ryan says.

“Good. Good. I missed the kid.”

“We all did,” Ryan says. “He missed us too, I think.”

“Well who wouldn’t?” Spencer laughs. “I mean, come on, we’re us. And, like, awesome.”

“Like hell you are,” says Brendon’s amused voice, and he and Jon are standing at the end of the hallway. Brendon smirks, and Jon sways, looking dizzy.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” Spencer says, rushing over to the oldest of them. He grabs Jon’s elbow, and steadies him.

“I wanted some water,” Jon sighs, voice rough and tired to match the shadows beneath his eyes.

“Last time -” Spencer begins, but is quickly cut off.

“You weren’t there last time,” Jon snaps. “You weren’t there last time, so stop pretending like you know.” Jon shakes Spencer off of him, eyes hot.”

“Jon,” Ryan murmurs, slow and warning.

“No,” Jon says, frustrated. “Last time, it was you and me, just us. He wasn’t around, so he doesn’t know. He walks over to Ryan, brushing by Spencer, and whispers in Ryan’s ear, “He doesn’t know.”

“Jon, stop it,” Ryan says. The look in Jon’s eyes is familiar, something Ryan remembers. There’s a coldness that isn’t usually there, an uncaring cruelty that is only there when Jon’s insides are burning black from cravings. “Stop.”

“Remember how we used to make love?” Jon asks, and he glances at Spencer to gauge his reaction. Spencer keeps his face carefully neutral. “Remember?”

“You’re being an asshole right now,” Ryan says.

“Do you remember, though?” Jon prods, and Spencer has to look away. “How I felt inside of you? How, whenever I hurt too much, you’d just give yourself to me? Spencer won’t let me touch him. But you did, let me touch you whenever I wanted.”

“Why are you doing this?” Ryan hisses. “Okay, fine, you’re trying to get a rise out of Spin, I get it. But he’s not the only one you’re hurting here, you fucking asshole.” Ryan pushes passed him to get to Brendon, whose expression is a mixture of confusion and possession.

“I’m the asshole?” Jon laughs scathingly. “I’m not the one who cheated on my boyfriend with a fucking stranger!” He shouts. “I’m not the one who ruined everything.”

“I didn’t give you the smack, Jon,” Ryan says quietly. “So don’t you dare pin your shit on me, you fucking junkie.”

It takes Jon a millisecond at the most to reach Ryan, form daunting, fist raised. His had connects hard with Ryan’s jaw, his knuckles meeting bone. Emboldened, he punches again, and again, until Brendon’s hands are tugging at his arms, pulling him away. Everything stops as Ryan crumples to the floor, hands covering his face. Jon stares at him in surprise, as though he had been watching the whole thing from afar, as though he was an innocent bystander.

“Ryan,” he whispers.

“You,” Ryan says, touching his fingers to his bleeding lip. “You are a fucking jerk, Jon Walker. I know that you’re bitchy because you can’t get a fix, but you just crossed a fucking line. You know what I just saw? Instead of you, I saw my father, my fucking drunk of a father.”

“Ryan, I didn’t -”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Ryan snarls, standing up. He gets into Jon’s face, and shouts, “If you ever lay a hand on me again, I will break your arm. You had better get your shit together, and fast, because Brendon is not going to be around this shit, understand?”

“Okay,” Jon nods, repentant. “I -”

“I don’t care,” Ryan snaps. “It’s fine. I know this isn’t you right now, and I know when you come back to yourself, you’re gonna feel like shit.”

“I already do,” Jon mumbles.

“Yeah, well, you probably don’t feel as shitty as my face does right now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just get over here, and hug me so I don’t have to hate you, okay?” Ryan says, and looks at Jon expectantly. Jon nods, eager to gain Ryan’s forgiveness. He gathers Ryan’s slim form up in his arms, and squeezes tight.

“I’m awful,” Jon whispers.

“No,” Ryan shakes his head, fingers rubbing soothing circles into Jon’s back. “But you’re doing a good job of acting it. You don’t need to be apologizing to me, Spencer and Bren are the ones that you’re hurting.”

Jon glances at Brendon, who is watching the pair nervously, enviously. He looks genuinely frightened, like Jon’s a monster, but then, maybe he is.

“Bren,” Jon whispers. “Brendon, God, I’m so -”

“I’m really mad at you right now,” Brendon says. “Like, seething doesn’t even begin describe how furious I am. I seriously just want to break you right now.”

“I know.”

“You are not a good person right now, Jon Walker,” Brendon frowns. “I love you, probably more than I should at the moment, and I was always taught forgiveness growing up, but Jon. Damn it, Jon, you make it hard to forgive you.”

“I know.”

“But I love you,” Brendon says. “And I’m going to try my hardest, but if you ever do anything like that to Ryan or Spencer, I will bag-tag you so hard you won’t even know what hit you.”

“Okay,” Jon nods. He turns to Spencer, who refuses to meet his eyes. “Spin. Spin.”

“It’s fine,” Spencer whispers, and sniffles. “Really. It’s okay.”

“You’re upset.”

“Yeah, but. It’s not your fault. I know you love me,” Spencer murmurs.

The thing is, Jon’s not so sure that he does.


	17. part fifteen

It should be awkward as Brendon crawls into Ryan's bed, he should feel strange and uncomfortable. he doesn't though; Ryan's bed feels too familiar for him to feel awkward, and he curls into the blankets instantly, finding his niche.

Ryan is in Jon's room next door, making sure that he and Spencer will be okay for the night. Brendon can hear Jon's muffled voice apologizing, passing on his penance through the paper-thin wall.

"It's fine," Ryan's voice says, soothing and gentle. "Let's just forget about it."

"But Brendon -" Jon protests.

"He's okay," Ryan assures him, and Brendon nods to himself.

"I scared him, Ryan," Jon says. "You saw his face. I scared him."

"I'll take care of it, okay Jonny?" Ryan says. "You just rest, and I'll check in on him, make sure he's doing okay."

"Fine," Jon says. "Tell him I'm sorry."

"I think he knows. Goodnight guys."

"Goodnight," Spencer and Jon chorus. Brendon hears their door click shut, and glances up to see Ryan standing in the doorway, watching him, a tiny smile on his face.

"Comfy?" He asks, stepping into the room, closing the door behind him. Brendon nods.

"I always liked your bed," he says. Then, his face turns serious, and he looks at Ryan with severe eyes. "I'm okay," he says. "I was then, and I am now."

"Good," Ryan says, and the word is so loaded, so full of meaning. "You - you shouldn't have seen any of that. That was - that wasn't Jon, you know?"

"It was the drugs," Brendon says. "I get it."

"You don't, though," Ryan laughs quietly. "You really don't."

"Then tell me," Brendon says. "'Cause I'm sticking around. Everything goes to shit when I leave you people to yourselves."

"Brendon," Ryan frowns, looking at the younger boy doubtfully. "It's not a pretty story."

"I don't care. I deserve this much, Ryan, the truth."

"Fine," Ryan relents. "Just - just don't judge us for who we were."

"And you don't censor it," Brendon replies. "Don't clean it up for my sake."

"Right," Ryan says, and takes a deep breath. "Okay. So it starts in my Sophomore year of high school. I'm sixteen. Jon's a new student, just moved from Chicago, and people say he's a cokehead. And me, well, I've got nothing to lose but a substandard grade point average and a shitty home life. So I sit with Jon Walker at lunch. Turns out, yeah, he is a cokehead, but he's a nice cokehead. A real good-guy felled by big city peer pressure. So Jon and I, we start hanging out, we get really close. At first, I hang around him because he's the elusive cool-guy senior, but then, then he's so good to me. Holds my hand when I can't sleep, takes care of me when I'm sick. The first time he kisses me, we're on a fucking moonlight picnic, and he's just - he's just so gentle, right? So I give him my virginity, something that I'll never regret, because he makes it perfect. Rose petals, candles, everything, and he really makes me feel like I deserve it, all the affection. It's everything a first time should be. Then, afterwards, Jon doesn't come to school for a while, and I figure he's avoiding me. Got off, and now he's moving on. Turns out, Jon's in the hospital. Drug overdose. So I'm freaking out, because Jon's, like, my boyfriend or whatever, and he's fucked up on drugs. So I go to his apartment, and I find all his shit, and I flush it. Jon comes home the next day, and I figure that he's going to kill me like in the movies. Jon just kisses my cheek, thanks me, and goes to bed. That's the day he first tells me he loves me. He makes me a promise that he's going to quit, and promptly breaks it four days later at a party that I follow him to. And I'm so mad because he betrayed me, so I snort a line or two, and fuck this other guy. Jon finds out, and he's more pissed about me spying on him than anything else. So we go back to his apartment, and he breaks my arm. He throws me out, and I drive myself to the emergency room. I break up with him the next day at school, cast and all, and he tries to kill himself." Ryan takes another breath, and says, "That's part one."

"There's more?" Brendon breathes, incredulous.

"Yeah," Ryan laughs. "Can I sit?" Brendon nods, and scoots over enough for Ryan to slide into the bed beside him. "Okay," Ryan says. "So in part two, Jon has graduated, and I hear that he's moved back to Chicago. I'm a Junior, and I'm a fucking burn-out. No job, bad grades. I try to kill myself, and Jon somehow hears about it. Apparently he's still toking up in Vegas. Apparently, he never moved to Chicago. Apparently, he had one of his little stoner friends spread that around so I wouldn’t “pine”. So how, in some weird twist of fate, I’m in the hospital, and Jon’s at my bedside, and Christ, we’re still in love. We’re back together, only now, we’re getting high together. At first, Jon’s all protective and shit, but I’ve changed and I can handle myself now. By now, I’ve slept with so many guys that I can’t even count them on my toes. By now, I’m scum, and Jon’s scum, so why shouldn’t we be scum together? So now, we’re both so fucked up, we’re always high, we’re always fucking, you can’t even call it making love anymore. Now it’s just cold, ruthless fucking, each other, other people, it doesn’t matter. By now, I’m just a needy little slut who’s lost everything, and is just looking for affection. And then I get jealous, because Jon’s seeing this new guy, like really seeing him, and monogamy just isn’t kosher, right? Turns out, Jon’s kind of in love with this new guy; he’s clean and sweet, he’s not broken. So we break up, for real this time, officially, with fucking break-up music and everything, and Jon gets together with the new guy. By now I’m nineteen, and we’re living here, and Jon brings the new guy to meet me, to see if I approve. The new guy, the one that Jon is all head-over-heels for, is Spencer Smith, the best friend that gave up on me only after I gave up on myself. Needless to say, we’re both pretty shocked. He though I was dead, and I’d forgotten he existed. He tells me that he missed me, and I tell him I would have missed him too if I’d been sober. He appreciates that, and when he hugs me, I come back to myself. I’m sixteen again, on the straight-and-narrow. I give it all up, the drugs, the fucking. It’s not so easy for Jon. Spencer breaks up with him, says he can’t handle the drugs, and Jon disappears for a few days as is his wont. He comes back, and says he wants to clean up, says he lost the love of his life to this shit. I tell him I’ll help.” Ryan stretches, smiling a little at Brendon’s awed expression.

“Part three?” Brendon says.

“Part three sees us curled up in Jon’s bed, where we’ve been for about two weeks. He’s hurting, he’s shaking, he can’t sleep. So I let him fuck me. We make love, I guess, because it’s how it used to be. Tender, you know? So when he hurts, I try to make him feel better because I maybe still love him. Maybe. I might just like affection, who knows? And things are going well, Jon is getting better, feeling better, and we’re so good together. It’s Friday, Sunday at the most, we’ve lost sense of time, and Jon is buried in me. We’re almost asleep, and he’s kissing my collarbone. He looks at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen, and he tells me, ‘I love you, Spin’. And I about die from crying. Part three sees my heart breaking as I realize that it’s really over. Jon and I are really over. I think I’ll never be in love again. But what I don’t know is that in a couple years, I’m going to meet a boy named Brendon Urie at the Starbucks where I work, and he’s going to become a part of our family. I’m going to fall in love with this Brendon Urie, and it’s going to be the best I’ve ever felt. I’m going to forget I ever loved Jon, and I’m going to be so happy.”

“So what about part four?” Brendon whispers. He sneaks his hand up the back of Ryan’s shirt, fingers cool against the warm skin of Ryan’s back. “Am I in part four?”

“You are part four,” Ryan says, and Brendon’s lips turn up at the corners.

“I just,” Brendon says. “Before we start this again, I just need to know why.”

“You deserve that,” Ryan nods. “Yeah, okay. I’m not going to try and justify what I did because it was unjustifiable, and I hate myself for it, for hurting you, for causing all of this. I will always hate myself for it. I’ve never felt comfortable with happiness, and I was so, so happy with you. I figured that it would end eventually, of its own accord, so I just. I gave it a little push I guess. I just don’t feel like I deserve you.”

“Maybe you don’t,” Brendon murmurs, and Ryan smiles grimly. “But I’d like to think that you do.” Ryan looks up at him, lips graced by a real smile now. Brendon leans in, just slightly, and fits his mouth over Ryan’s. It’s like those four months apart melt away when their lips touch, and they’re back in Starbucks, kissing for the very first time. “Missed you,” Ryan mumbles, his lips brushing against Brendon’s.

“Don’t talk,” Brendon says. “Just.” He presses his lips harder against Ryan’s, and Ryan sighs. “Yeah,” Brendon says. “That’s ridiculous. Nothing should feel that good.”

“Mmm,” Ryan smiles, and rests his forehead against Brendon’s shoulder. “Shut up and go to bed.”

“Lover,” Brendon hums, and kisses Ryan’s forehead. Ryan just smiles.

-

Brendon wakes up to shouting. Ryan isn’t in the bed next to him, but he doesn’t recognize the older boy’s voice in the cacophony. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, slipping out of bed, and walks out into the hallway. Ryan is standing in the hall in his sleep pants, arms crossed over his bare chest, watching Spencer and Jon argue with a look of mild interest on his face.

“What’s going on?” Brendon mumbles, and Spencer throws a plate, sending glass skittering over the floor, a chunk landing at Ryan’s feet.

“Jon is systematically destroying his life,” Ryan replies.

“What did I do?” Spencer screams. “Tell me, Jon. What the fuck did I do?”

“Just shut up!” Jon screams back, louder, his voice hoarse. “Just shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“They’re like two year olds,” Ryan mutters, and steps into the minefield. “Both of you!” He shouts. “Shut the fuck up.” Spencer and Jon stop yelling, and look at Ryan, who looks livid. “You,” he points to Jon. “Spencer loves you, so get the fuck over it. And you,” he points to Spencer. “Don’t let him push you around. Punch him if he starts acting like a little bitch. Honestly, if you two keep going like this, things are never going to get better. Fuck you both.”

“Ryan,” Spencer glares, but Ryan flips him off.

“I’m going to work,” he says, walking back to his bedroom. He emerges soon after, in uniform, kisses Brendon on the cheek, and walks out the front door.

“I have school,” Brendon shrugs, looking at Jon and Spencer wide-eyed. He hurries to the door, waves at them, and forces out a cheerful, “Bye guys.”

Spencer and Jon look at each other, and Spencer sighs.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” he says.

“I already do,” Jon mumbles, and slinks off back into his room.

Spencer doesn’t cry.

-

Ryan’s working his double shift when Brendon walks in after school. The younger boy looks about as worn out as Ryan feels, but when he sees Ryan, his face brightens. He sets his bag down in an abandoned chair and sidles up to the counter.

“Can I get a venti Ryan Ross with caramel syrup please?” He asks pleasantly, and Ryan rolls his eyes.

“How was your day?” He asks.

“Terrible,” Brendon sighs. “AP Calculus is kicking my ass. Seriously, just. Fuck Calculus.”

“I’d offer my help, but I was only good at English in school.”

“Your pretty, pretty face will be help enough, my dear,” Brendon says.

“You know,” Ryan laughs. “You don’t have to be all charming anymore. You have me already.”

“Yeah, but I like being charming. Seeing you blush boosts my ego about fifty points with each shade.”

“Like your ego needs to get any bigger,” Ryan smiles.

“I like you,” Brendon says. “I’m eighteen.”

“I know.”

“Remember what we said was going to happen once I turned eighteen?”

“I do,” Ryan nods. “Now isn’t the... right time.”

“I figured as much.”

“Soon, though,” Ryan promises. “Once things get better. Normal.”

“What if they don’t?” Brendon murmurs.

“Be optimistic,” Ryan says. “Things will be good again, and you’ll come live with us, and we’ll share a bed every night, and things will be good.”

“That does sound good,” Brendon says.

“It’ll happen. I know it will,” Ryan says. He reaches across the counter, grabs Brendon’s hand, and laces their fingers. “We will get through this.”

“I believe you,” Brendon says, and he’s never meant any words more in his entire life.

-

When Ryan gets home from work, Spencer is gone. Jon is on the couch, staring blankly at the television, which isn’t even on. Ryan resists the urge to wave a hand in front of the older man’s face, and instead sits down beside him.

“Hey,” Jon says.

“Hey.”

“So, Spencer and I broke up.”

“I kind of gathered.”

“I think I love him.”

“You do, dumbass.”

“Then why isn’t he here?”

“Because you are a grade-A fuck-up just like me,” Ryan says. “Brendon’s not moving in. Not yet at least. Not until we sort this shit out.”

“He’s eighteen,” Jon says.

“He’s still too young to be around this.”

“Ryan.”

“Jon.”

“Ry, how are we going to fix this?” Jon asks. “How are we going to fix all of this?”

“You’re going to get sober,” Ryan says. “And I’m going to stop taking things for granted. We’re both going to learn how to be happy, and things will be good again.”

“Yeah,” Jon says. “Maybe if you keep telling yourself that, it’ll come true.” He gets up, and walks away, and leaves Ryan on the couch, shoulders hunched in defeat, staring at the blank television screen.


	18. part sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And things are looking up. The skies are bluer, the grass is greener. Happiness is just around the corner.

"You!" Ryan glances up from the latte he's making to look at the dark-haired boy standing in the doorway. Brendon is pointing an accusatory finger at him, the other hand on his cocked hip.

"Um, darling," Ryan deadpans. "Can you maybe not look so campy in my place of business?" He looks at Brendon with a raised eyebrow as the younger boy stalks over to him. He hands the girl her latte with an apologetic look, and she scurries away, casting a nervous glance back at Brendon. "What's up?" Ryan says.

"What's up?" Brendon repeats. "Can you think of something pretty big that you maybe didn't tell me?"

"Um," Ryan says, eyebrows furrowed as he thinks. "Oh. By the way, I have work right now?"

"Wrong," Brendon says. "They broke up. Spin and Jon broke up."

"Yeah," Ryan says. "They kind of did."

"I was left uninformed!" Brendon cries. "I walked into the fucking cave of misery today totally unaware!"

"You didn't," Ryan says, eyes wide. "You went to Spencer's?"

"I thought he was going to kill me, Ryan," Brendon whimpers. "It was awful. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well I certainly didn't think you'd go off and make the monster mad," Ryan snaps. "Jesus Christ."

"You gotta tell me these things, Ryan. You gotta tell me that I'm gonna get wrecked if I go into Spencer Smith's lair."

"Okay," Ryan says. "This is okay. We'll just do a little damage control. My shift is over, like, now, so we'll go over, and we'll bring some treats, and everything will be fine."

"Dude," Brendon says. "So I'm right to be terrified of Spin Smith?"

"You have no idea," Ryan says. "Now, go wait in the car. I'll be out in a minute."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Brendon says, giving Ryan a mock salute. He scurries out of the shop, and Ryan heaves a heavy sigh, running his hands through his hair.

"Linda!" He calls to the other girl on shift. She pokes her head out of the lounge, cigarette dangling from her bottom lip. "The fuck?" Ryan says, looking pointedly at it.

"Fuck you," Linda replies. "I had the morning shift. You're lucky I'm not half-way through a bottle of JD. Now, what?"

"I need every chocolate muffin that we have in stock, please," Ryan says, batting his eyelashes.

"Spencer got dumped?" Linda says, eyes wide. Ryan nods. "By Jon?" Ryan nods. "Do I have permission to kick J-Walk in the balls?"

"Er," Ryan says, fighting the urge to shield himself. "Maybe some other time. Muffins, please?"

"Right," Linda nods. "I'm on it chief." She disappears into the store room.

"You're a life-saver, Linda!" Ryan calls after her. He tugs his apron off, puts it on his hook, and waits for Linda to emerge from the back. When she does, she's carrying a box filled with individually wrapped chocolate muffins. "Angel," Ryan murmurs, taking the box from her.

"My shift manager will not forget this, will he?" Linda says.

"Not a chance," Ryan laughs. "Thank you sweetheart."

"You're welcome," Linda beams. Ryan gives her a grateful smile, and turns to leave, but Linda says, "Hold up." Ryan looks at her curiously. "Did that adorable hunk of boy belong to you?"

"Oh my God," Ryan groans. "Yes," he says. "Isn't he -"

"Perfect?" Linda says. "Jesus Christ, yeah. Thought I'd died and gone to heaven."

"Linda," Ryan says. "Stop drooling. We'll discuss my delicious boyfriend later. Right now, I have to go mend a crisis." He hurries out of the shop, and out to his car. He finds Brendon in the driver's seat. "Um. Hi. What're you doing?"

"Driving," Brendon says, and Ryan tries his hardest not to flinch. "Oh, go to hell. I've had my license for almost two years. Now get in." Ryan sighs, but climbs into the passenger seat. "Good boy," Brendon smiles, patting Ryan on the head. "Ooh, muffins." He reaches out to take one, but Ryan smacks his hand.

"They're for the beast," he says, and Brendon nods. He puts the car into drive, and peels out of the Starbucks lot. "Jesus Christ."

"Only joking," Brendon laughs, and speeds off to Spencer's apartment.

-

It takes three knocks on Spencer's door before it opens, just a crack, enough for Spencer to stick his face out.

"What?" He grunts.

"We come bearing muffins," Ryan says.

"Show 'em," Spencer orders. Ryan holds up the bulging box of muffins, and Spencer nods, satisfied. He pulls the door open, and says, "Enter." They do, and Ryan puts the box of muffins on Spencer's couch, which looks like it's been Spencer's main habitat.

"Hey," Ryan murmurs, pulling Spencer into a tight hug.

"Hi," Spencer mumbles, pressing his face into Ryan's neck.

"Are you okay?" Ryan asks. Spencer nods, but Ryan can feel him shaking. "This'll blow over," Ryan promises.

"He said he hates me," Spencer says. "I think he really meant it, Ry. What - what do I do? I don't know how to be without Jon." Spencer pulls out of the embrace, and looks at Ryan with helpless eyes, a tear streaking down his cheek, pooling at the corner of his mouth. "I can't - what do I do, Ryan?"

"Just - things will be okay. I promise," Ryan says. "Jon loves you, I know he does. This will be fine."

"Can I have a muffin?" Spencer sniffs. Ryan smiles, nodding. "Do you have chocolate?" Spencer asks, peering over Ryan's shoulder into the box.

"Like I'd get anything else for you," Ryan says, and digs a chocolate muffin out of the box. He hands it to Spencer, who takes a grateful bite out of it. "Chocolate muffins make everything better, don't they?"

"Mmm, yes," Spencer says. "You're the best."

"I know," Ryan laughs. "I brought you a Brendon too," he says, pulling Brendon out from behind him so Spencer can see. "He's really cuddly, and he smells like sugar."

"A Brendon of my very own?" Spencer laughs.

"Well," Brendon says. "I'm on loan." He looks at Ryan, who laughs. "Hug?" Brendon offers, holding his arms out for Spencer. The older boy allows himself to be pulled into Brendon's tight embrace. Brendon rocks them back and forth, rubbing soothing circles into Spencer's back.

"Hey kid," Spencer mumbles.

"Spencer," Brendon says, and presses a light kiss to Spencer's collarbone. "I love you very much, Spencer Smith."

"I love you too, kid."

"Aw," Brendon coos. "Affection." Spencer smiles against the top of Brendon's head, and pulls out of the embrace. He looks at Ryan.

"Is he okay?" He asks. Ryan shrugs.

"I think so," he says. "He's been real quiet, but he's doing better. No more nightmares, he's sleeping much better now. He's. Yeah. He's getting better."

"Good," Spencer says. "That's. That's really good. Good for him."

"He's doing it for you, Spencer," Brendon says. "Like, duh."

"I. No," Spencer says. "Why would he do it for his ex-boyfriend?"

"Because he loves you, dumbass," Brendon laughs. Spencer frowns.

"I don't think so," he says. "No."

"Spin," Ryan says.

"Tell me a story," Spencer murmurs. "Like you used to when we were little kids." He looks up at Ryan with his tired blue eyes, and it feels so familiar, like they're growing up together all over again.

"Remember when you and Jon first got together?" Ryan asks, holding the flat of his palm against the warm skin of Spencer's back. Spencer makes a quiet, protesting noise in the back of his throat.

"I don't want to talk about Jon," he mumbles.

"It's a good story," Ryan says. "You know it is." He looks at Brendon, smiling, and says, "It really is a good story. It's full of sweeping, pirouetting romance and the like." Brendon watches them, face lit up with interest. He looks at Spencer with pleading eyes, and Spencer sighs.

"Fine," he says. "But if I start crying, I'll break your nose."

"Honestly," Ryan teases, running his long fingers through Spencer's hair. "Such a dramatic little thing. Anyway, they met at the Bucks, like you and me, Bren. Little Spencer was all innocent and unsuspecting, just sipping at his coffee, and then Jon's mooning over him. He pined, actually pined. He'd never even spoken to Spin, but he'd convinced himself that they were meant to be. What did he always say, Spin?"

"Like when the day met the night," Spencer says softly, recalling all of the times that Jon had murmured the same words in his ear.

"And it was," Ryan says, his voice taking on a dreamy quality that makes Brendon laugh. "After Jon, er, reintroduced us, I'd watch the way you two were around each other. It was like nothing I'd ever seen. He'd do anything to make you laugh, make you smile. Those first few months, it was like I could never get you two to stop smiling. You were both just so wrapped up in each other, curled up together in a little cocoon. You probably never saw the way he looked at you, but I did. It was like you were his whole world, like you were his moon, his stars, and his sun all wrapped up in one. And he was just a satellite. That boy was so in love with you, is so in love with you."

"It's obvious," Brendon chimes in. "Like you're his everything."

"Not anymore," Spencer says. His eyes are full of something quiet and distressed, and he looks so tiny and broken lying there in Ryan's arms. He is disconnected, a lone puzzle piece.

"He'll smarten up," Brendon says. "I know he will. Spencer, he loves you. He needs you."

"I just miss him is all," Spencer whispers. "This person that's around now, that's not Jon. I don't know who it is, but it's not my Jon. I want my Jon back. I want my smiling, warm, snuggly Jon back."

"Maybe you should talk to him," Ryan says.

"No, no, I couldn't."

"Call him," Brendon urges. He grabs the phone from the kitchen counter, and hands it to Spencer, saying sternly, "Call him."

"I - okay," Spencer nods. "Okay, yeah." He dials Jon's cell phone number, and it rings twice before Jon picks up.

"Spin?" Jon says, and Spencer wonders if he always answers the phone like that. His voice is warm and full, and he sounds better, so much better. "Spencer, baby? Is that you?" Spencer's heart is leap-frogging its way up into his throat.

“Hi,” he murmurs. Jon gives a pleased sigh from the other end at the sound of Spencer’s voice.

“Hey,” Jon says. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

“I miss you,” Spencer whispers, and he knows he sounds desperate, but he doesn’t care. “I miss you, and I love you, and I want to help you, but I’m scared, Jon.”

“I’m scared too, Spencer,” Jon sighs. “I just - I don’t want to hurt you, not anymore. You deserve better. I can’t be with you, Spencer, not when I’m like this. I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” Spencer says authoritatively. “I don’t care if you hurt me, I just want to help you get better so you can be happy, so we can both be happy. Don’t you want to be happy, Jon?”

“I don’t deserve to be happy,” Jon murmurs.

“Maybe not,” Spencer sighs. “But I do. And the only way I can be happy is if I’m with you.”

“Spencer,” Jon whispers. “I’m so in love with you.”

“Then stop trying to protect me, and let me in. Let me protect you.”

“Can you,” Jon begins. He lets out a deep breath, and says, “I need to see you.”

“We’ll be there in ten,” Spencer replies.

“We?”

“Ryan and the kid are with me.”

“Hurry,” Jon pleads. “I need to - I need to see your face.”

“I love you,” Spencer murmurs.

“Love you.” Spencer smiles at the words as he hangs up. He looks at Ryan and Brendon.

“Let’s go,” he says, getting to his feet. He rushes around his apartment to throw clean clothes on. Brendon and Ryan watch him with matching amused expressions. “Come on!” Spencer cries. “I’m rescuing my relationship here, people.” He runs out the door, and Ryan and Brendon hurry after him.

-

The drive from Spencer’s apartment to the Walker-Ross-(Urie) household normally takes fifteen to twenty minutes, barring traffic. They arrive in just under six.

Spencer races through the lobby, up to the third floor, down the hallway to apartment 42. He throws open the door, too urgent to knock. Jon is waiting for him on the couch, and when the older man sees Spencer, all blue eyes and flushed skin, he stands, rushing over to the blond boy. Spencer throws his arms around Jon’s neck, and pulls him closer, burying his face in Jon’s chest.

“We need to stop being so goddamn stupid,” Spencer says. Jon clutches at the younger boy’s forearms, holding his tight as though Spencer might slip away from him again if he loosens his grip. “Jon. Jonny,” Spencer whispers.

“I love you,” Jon says. “Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Mine.” He cups Spencer’s face in his hands, tilts his chin up so that Spencer is look at him. “Mine?” Jon whispers.

“Always?” Spencer promises. “Always yours.” He leans up, presses his lips against Jon’s just the barest brush of their lips.

“I will always love you,” Jon says, brushing his thumb over Spencer’s cheek. “I’m going to be terrible to you. I will be impossible. But I will always, always love you.”

“I just want you to be happy again,” Spencer says. “I just want my Jon back.”

“I’m going to try my absolute hardest to give you your Jon back.”

“I’ve missed you,” Spencer says to Jon’s shoulder, and Jon laughs, hearty and warm, just the way Spencer remembers it.

“I’ve missed me too,” Jon admits. “I’m a little tired. Can we go to bed?”

“Of course,” Spencer says. He takes Jon’s hand in his own, and leads the older man into his bedroom. Jon sits down, and stretches out on his bed. Spencer takes a blanket, and covers Jon’s legs with it. He bends down, brushes his lips over Jon’s forehead. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Please,” Jon whispers. Spencer smiles, and slides into the bed beside Jon. He cuddles into Jon’s side, and Jon’s arms wrap tightly around his waist, holding him close.

“Sleep,” Spencer tells him gently, kissing Jon’s chest.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Jon asks.

“I promise.”

-

Brendon and Ryan wander up to the apartment leisurely, their fingers laced loosely at their sides between them. Brendon pulls his hand away, and wraps an arm around Ryan’s shoulders, coaxing the boy’s thin body closer to him. Ryan smiles, and kisses Brendon’s cheek.

They enter the apartment quietly, and creep to Ryan’s room. Before Ryan’s even shut the door, the younger boy has leapt into his bed, cuddling into the warm nest of Ryan’s blankets until only his face is visible.

“Home,” Brendon sighs contentedly. Ryan nods, smiling as he crosses the room to his bed. He climbs in next to Brendon, tucking his feet under Brendon’s warmer ones. Brendon shifts onto his side so that he’s facing Ryan, and grins. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Ryan whimpers.

“How are you?”

“I feel,” Ryan says. “I feel light, weightless. Like a cloud or something. This - I’m happy, Brendon.” Brendon smiles, and leans in to brush his lips over Ryan’s.

“I’m happy too,” he says.

-

“Guys?” Spencer pushes Ryan’s bedroom door open, and peers inside. The two boys are curled around each other, hands laced between them. Ryan shifts, stretches, and blearily opens his eyes, looking at Spencer.

“What’s wrong?” He mumbles groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Jon’s just - he had a nightmare, I think,” Spencer says, sounding distressed. “He’s asking for you two.”

“Okay, yeah, we’ll be right there,” Ryan says. Spencer smiles gratefully, and moves to walk away, but Ryan says, “Hey, wait. Are you two okay?” Spencer nods, smiling.

“No more running away,” he says. “Not for any of us.” He slips out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.

“Bren,” Ryan says, shaking Brendon gently. “B, wake up.” Brendon’s eyes flutter open, and he smiles when he sees Ryan. “Jon needs us,” Ryan says.

“Jonny?” Brendon repeats. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. He just had a nightmare, and he wants us,” Ryan says. “C’mon.”

They hurry into Jon’s room, and Jon and Spencer are in bed. Jon is whimpering quietly, face buried in Spencer’s neck. Spencer looks distressed, his fingers running idly through the older man’s hair.

Brendon approached them first, crawling into bed behind Jon. He wraps his arms around Jon’s middle, and Jon turns in the embrace, relaxing in Brendon’s hold.

“Kid,” Jon whispers.

“I’ve got you,” Brendon says. His face is serious, and he suddenly appears years older than seventeen as Ryan watches him. “Deep breaths,” Brendon instructs gently, rubbing Jon’s back. “I’ve got you, you’re safe.” He can feel Jon’s tears soaking into his t-shirt. He can feel the man in his arms shaking, trembling. “Jonny, talk to me.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Jon sobs. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“No one’s leaving you, Jonny,” Brendon whispers. “We’re all here. See?”

Jon doesn’t look, just sobs out a quiet, “Ryan.”

“Ryan’s here,” Brendon says. “Ryan come -” but Ryan’s already there, taking Jon’s hand in his own, brushing his thumb over Jon’s palm.

“It’s okay,” Ryan says. “You’re okay, I’m okay. We’re all okay.”

“I dreamed that I hurt you,” Jon whispers, looking up at Ryan with tired brown eyes. “I really did, and I was so scared. I was so scared, Ryan, because I’m not supposed to be hurting you. I’m supposed to protect you, all of you, and all I’m doing is fucking up.”

“Jonny, you’re spent a long time taking care of Spin and me, and even Brendon,” Ryan says. “Now it’s our turn. We’re gonna take you of you now.”

“I just want to stop fucking up,” Jon sighs, holding Brendon close to him. He strokes the boy’s cheek, presses his face into Brendon’s chest. “I’ve been a fuck-up all my life, and I’m sick of it.”

“You aren’t a fuck-up,” Brendon murmurs.

“Yeah, he is,” Ryan says, laughing. Jon looks at him, and Ryan bites his lip, trying to sober himself. But then they’re laughing, hard and loud until their bellies hurt. And for a minute, it feels like old times.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Brendon frowns, looking at them perplexedly. This just makes them laugh harder, and soon, Spencer joins in, and eventually, Brendon.

It feels so good to laugh, to have their stomachs hurt and their breathing wheeze. They clutch each other tightly, until their laughter dies down and they’re wiping the tears from the corners of their eyes.

“I missed being happy,” Jon murmurs. “I missed laughing and feeling good.”

“Me too,” Ryan says. “God, me too.”  
-

They spend the weekend at the apartment, bathing in the warm feeling of family. Ryan sits on the couch, Brendon resting between his legs, head pillowed on Ryan’s bony thigh. Jon sits on the floor, Spencer curled up in his lap. They don’t talk, they just smile with each other, laugh with each other. They live with each other. Things are looking up. The skies are bluer, the grass is greener. Happiness is just around the corner.


	19. part seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Get your shit,” his father says. “And get out of this house.”
> 
> “Gladly,” Brendon says.

It's Monday, and Brendon is try his very hardest to go to school, he really is, but Ryan just won't let him. Okay, so the older boy isn't exactly obscuring his path to a higher education, but he is sprawled out on the bed, clad in only a tiny pair of blue boxers, white skin peeking out through the mess of sheets, winking, luring Brendon in.

"Fucking tease," Brendon mutters. He's standing there, with his right shoe stuck uncomfortably on his left foot, and his left shoe dangling limply in his hands. He is, to put it mildly, utterly enthralled. There is an angel in his bed; how the hell did he get so lucky?

"Shouldn't you be at school?" An amused voice chuckles from the doorway. Brendon jumps, dropping his shoe. He spins, tripping over the untied disaster on his feet, and lands with his face flat against the cold hardwood floor.

"That," Brendon says. "Sucked." He looks up, and Jon is watching him, lips buttoned tight to contain his amusement. Brendon scowls, and says, "Let it out, Walker." And Jon dissolves into his deep, warm laughter. "Asshole," Brendon mutters, clambering to his feet. "You are an asshole, Jon Walker."

"'Least I'm not a creepy sleep-watcher," Jon smirks.

"He's my boyfriend," Brendon reasons. "I'm allowed to watch."

"Watch what?" Spencer asks, coming up behind Jon. He wraps his arms around Jon's neck, resting his chin on the older man's shoulder.

"Ryan sleeping," Jon replies, kissing Spencer gently on the mouth.

"Well, that's just about precious enough to make you puke," Spencer smirks. Brendon looks at him incredulously.

"Do you not see yourselves?" He cries. "It's like fucking puppies and rainbows dropped a love nuke on you."

Ryan makes a disgruntled noise from the bed, and says, "Shut up. Some of us don't have to be at Starbucks in ten minutes to get their job back, right Jon?"

And Jon says, "Oh shit," and races out the door.

"And the rest of us don't need to be at school, like, now."

"I blame my tardiness on you," Brendon says. "You and your delicious half-naked body and impossible sexiness." Ryan sits up.

"Did you just call me sexy?" He says.

"Yes, I did."

"Go to school."

"Yes, dear," Brendon says, straightening in a mock salute. He hurries out the door, blowing Ryan a kiss on the way.

Ryan smiles, and calls after him, "Your shoes are on the wrong feet, moron." There's the sharp sound of breaking glass and a muffled cry of surprise.

"Sorry!" Brendon calls, and the door slams shut.

"That better not have been my good vase," Ryan mutters.

"It totally was," Spencer laughs, walking over to the bed. "You know it was."

"I know," Ryan sighs, relaxing back into the mattress. "Goddamn kid."

"You adore him," Spencer says, toeing off his shoes. "Can I?" He asks, and Ryan nods, making room in the bed for his best friend to crawl in. "Wait," Spencer says. "Have you and Brendon had sex in here?"

"No," Ryan says.

"Wow," Spencer says, sliding into the bed. He looks at Ryan. "Really?"

"He's a virgin," Ryan shrugs. "His first should be special, you know?"

"Look at you," Spencer laughs. "Breaking in virgins."

"Believe me, there is no breaking in going on in this bed."

"But you want to," Spencer says.

"Dude, my grandmother wants to. Brendon is fucking hot. Just - oh my God. He's gonna be so good if we do."

"When," Spencer corrects. "When you do. That boy wants you so bad."

"It shouldn't be about lust, though," Ryan says. "It should be about love. Trust."

"Tell me, Ryan," Spencer says. "When did you become a girl?" Ryan laughs, playfully shoving Spencer away. "Seriously, though. That's a beautiful sentiment. The thing is, he does love you. Like, more than candy. And you love him to."

"I just want to make it special for him. Like Jon did for me."

"Ry," Spencer says. "It'll be special if it's with you."

"I just -"

"Can I tell you what I think without you hitting me?" Spencer asks, and Ryan nods. "I think you're scared. I think that you feel that having sex would make it official. Too official. You haven't had a real, good boyfriend in ages, so you're shy, you're hesitant. And then, there's Brendon's age. You feel like you have to be careful with him, like you've got to treat him like glass. He's not a baby, Ryan, he's a big boy. You saw how mature he's been through all of this. He's not fragile." Spencer looks at him seriously. "This is the best thing you've ever had, and I guess I just don't want you to push it away because you're being too cautious. I approve of this boy, he's good for you, he's good to you."

"You're right," Ryan says. "You're absolutely right. I just - I can't screw this up, Spin, not again. He's everything to me, you know?"

"You're perfect for each other," Spencer agrees. "Just do what you feel is right."

"I think I'm gonna do what my blue balls feel is right, actually," Ryan says. "'Cause I'm dying here," he laughs, and Spencer laughs with him.

"You want it hard," Spencer teases.

"Oh my God, he won't, though. I know he won't. He'll be all gentle and loving and tender."

"The first time," Spencer says. "But after that, he'll be a seasoned lover. And the best part is that you can train him to your tastes."

"We need to stop talking about my boyfriend and I having sex," Ryan groans. "I'm developing a bit of a - er - problem."

-

"So explain to me your absence from earlier this year," the interviewer asks. Her voice is polite, stiff, and she's eating Jon alive.

"I was, um," Jon says. "I was in a pretty bad place for a while there. Mentally, that is."

"But you feel that you're more stable now?"

"Oh, absolutely. Yes, ma'am. Maybe even better than before," Jon admits.

"Anything else you'd like to say?"

"Well. I guess I just want to say that when I did work here, I loved it. This place has always been a kind of ... safe haven for people like me. Quirky people that don't really fit in, but still have a lot to offer." Jon looks at the interviewer, and says, "I know I screwed up before, but I'm really hoping you believe in second chances."

"Well, Mr. Walker," she says. "I do believe in second chances. Your record was very good when you were here. You have excellent recommendations. You're a good guy, Jon." She smiles. "Welcome back."

"Thank you," Jon beams.

"Your uniform is -"

"Employee lounge, I know," Jon says, bounding out of the tiny room. His foot connects with something small, soft, and Ryan-shaped sitting in the doorway.

"Ow," Ryan says pointedly. "Jesus, man. Could you maybe get your foot off of my leg?" Jon smiles sheepishly, and helps Ryan to his feet.

"I got it!" He cries excitedly, relief flooding him. "I got it, Ryan. Things are going back to normal."

Ryan looks up at Jon, smiling hard, like it's Christmas, and says, "We're not fucking up anymore." And Jon laughs, because he sees sunshine in his future for the first timein a long time.

"This," he says. "Is better than any drug."

-

When they arrive home later that night after their shifts are finished, with two bags of the greasiest Taco Bell food that they could acquire, they find Brendon and Spencer curled up on the couch together. Spencer looks at his boyfriend expectantly, and Jon grins.

"Yep," is all he says, like it's no big deal, like it's not a stepping stone to getting his life back in order. Spencer makes room enough for Jon to sit next to him, and wraps his arms around the older boy's neck.

"You are my hero," he whispers, and Jon has to try really hard not to cry. Ryan clears his throat, giving Jon time to collect himself.

"So we brought Mexican food," he says, holding up his Taco Bell bag."

"Look at you," Brendon smirks. "Good provider."

"Yeah, well," Ryan shrugs. "I do what I can."

"And of course I get no credit," Jon pouts. Spencer pets his hair comfortingly.

"It's okay, darling," he says.

"Thank you, Spin," Jon laughs. "So what have you two been doing?"

"Bonding," Brendon says. "Papa Spin helped me with my chemistry."

"I could not go to high school anymore," Spencer says. "I'm a goddamn moron."

"At least I finished the stupid thing," Brendon shrugs. "S'all I care about."

“When’s graduation?” Ryan asks.

“June ninth,” Brendon says. “Will you guys come?” He looks around hopefully.

“Was that ever a question?” Jon asks. “Of course we’ll come, kid. Jesus, you’re growing up awful fast.”

“I feel like his mother,” Spencer laughs. “I can just see it now. He crosses the stage, and none of us even see it because we’re crying.”

“I’ll cry,” Jon says. “I’ll be the first to admit it.” Spencer nods his agreement.

“I won’t,” Ryan beams. “I’ll be too happy.”

“Why?” Brendon says. “You’re not graduating from that hell hole.”

“No,” Ryan says. “But we’ve been talking, and we think that after graduation, you should move in. Officially.” Ryan smiles. “Permanently.”

“Like,” Brendon says. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” Jon nods. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re pretty fond of you. We’d like to keep you around, if that’s alright.”

“That would be - yes,” Brendon says. “A thousand times yes.”

“Good,” Ryan says, hugging Brendon close to him. He presses a kiss to the younger boy’s temple, but Brendon is too busy grinning to kiss him back.

“Living here,” he murmurs. “Finally.”

-

The next morning, when Brendon returns home to get his things for school, his parents are waiting for him. Brendon senses danger the moment he walks in the door, because the entire house smells like muffins and cakes and other baked goods. It’s never a good sign when his mother’s spent the evening baking. Brendon frowns.

“Uh, hi?” He says hesitantly, dropping his bag in the doorway. His father looks at him stiffly, with his mouth taut and his eyes hard.

“Brendon,” he says. “Have a seat.” Brendon nods, and sits down in the chair opposite his parents. He folds his hands in his lap, keeps his back straight, and waits. “Brendon,” his father begins. “We are... concerned for you.”

“Why?” Brendon asks. “I’m not doing poorly in school, am I?”

“No,” his father says. “You’re doing quite well. It’s more your choice of friends that we’re concerned about.”

“Meaning?” Brendon says.

“Meaning that you don’t seem to have any friends your own age.”

“Well, Dad,” Brendon says. “That’s because the kids my own age are douchebags and potheads.”

“Watch your mouth,” his mother snaps. “All we’re trying to say is that we don’t approve of that group of adults that you’ve been hanging around with.”

“They’re not adults, Mom,” Brendon says. “And either way, it’s not like I’m not an adult myself. I’m eighteen now, and I can hang out with whoever I want.”

“Brendon,” his mother sighs. “We’re just trying to protect you.”

“From what?” Brendon cries. “The best people I’ve ever met? My only real family?”

“They are not your family,” his father grumbles. “We are your family, Brendon.”

“Yeah, well you certainly didn’t act that way when you kicked me out on the street,” Brendon sneers.

“Don’t talk to your father that way,” his mother barks. “We only kicked you out because you disobeyed the rules of this household, Brendon. That doesn’t mean that we don’t still love you. We’re still your family.”

“No,” Brendon says. “You’re not. They are my family. They love me, and they take care of me, and they make sure that I’m doing okay. And I love them too.”

“Brendon -”

“My boyfriend’s name is Ryan, Dad,” Brendon says. “Do you still love me?” He waits quietly for his father’s reaction, watches his face contort first into surprise, and then into anger.

“Get your shit,” his father says. “And get out of this house.”

“Gladly,” Brendon says, and storms upstairs to his room.


	20. part eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just saying goodbye,” he says. “Fresh start,” he smiles.

Ryan is asleep when something cold and wet presses against his body. He shivers as arms wrap around him, pulling him close. His eyes flutter open, and a familiar face comes into view.

"It's raining out," Brendon says needlessly, because rainwater is beading on his cheeks and his hair is dripping onto Ryan's bare skin. Brendon's bottom lip quivers, and tears flood his eyes as he says, "So, hi."

"Bren?" Ryan says. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" And Brendon loses it, letting out a quiet sob, burying his face in Ryan's neck. "Brendon, baby, you're scaring me. Tell me what's wrong." Brendon doesn't answer, just cries harder, clutching desperately to Ryan's waist.

"What's going on?" Spencer asks, pushing the bedroom door open. Jon peeks out from behind him, and when his eyes fall on Brendon's trembling form, he lets out a quiet gasp. Ryan sends them a helpless look.

"Puppy," Jon whispers, and he hurries over, crawling into the bed behind Brendon. He wraps his arms around Brendon's waist, and presses a kiss into the boy's wet hair. Spencer crawls in behind Ryan, and reaches out to touch Brendon's cheek.

"Talk to us," Ryan beds. Brendon looks up at him with dark eyes.

"They kicked me out," he whispers, sniffling.

"What?" Jon says sharply, a protective edge to his voice.

"Baby," Ryan murmurs.

"I just - why don't they love me?" Brendon asks. "Why don't they love me?"

"I don't know," Ryan says. "Because when I look at you, I can't help but love you." He smiles reassuringly, and Brendon lets out a sad little laugh. "Now tell us what happened."

"I went home this morning, and they were waiting for me," Brendon says. "And they started talking about how they didn't like how close I am with you all, how you're not my family and they are. But I couldn't let them talk about you like that. I couldn't. Because you are my family."

"That's right, little one," Spencer soothes, reaching around Ryan to rub his thumb over Brendon's hipbone.

"And we were fighting," Brendon continues. "And I didn't mean to, but it just kind of came out -"

"What came out?" Ryan asks.

"I told them about us," Brendon says.

"Oh," the other three chorus.

"And, you know, in retrospect it probably wasn't the best idea, but." Brendon looks at Ryan helplessly. "I didn't know what else to do."

"If they can't accept you, then you don't need them," Ryan says, running his thumb over the sharp edge of Brendon's jaw.

"It still hurts," Brendon whispers brokenly. Ryan feels hate, hot and burning, rise like bile up his throat. He's never hated strangers before, but he wants so badly to hurt Brendon's parents as much as they've hurt him.

"I love you," Ryan says fiercely, taking Brendon's tear-stained face in his hands. "I love you, we love you. Don't you forget that."

"I won't," Brendon promises, releasing a shuddering breath. "I love you too. My family." He presses his lips gently against Ryan's, just the tender brush of their mouths. His hands still clutch Ryan's hips, anchoring him. "I love you," he says against Ryan's mouth. Ryan smiles.

"I love you too," he says. "So I guess you'll be moving in early."

"Looks like," Brendon says.

"So maybe this is a blessing in disguise," Jon says.

"I just wish it could have happened on better circumstances," Brendon says. "Something other than my abandonment," he laughs.

"Don't think of it that way," Ryan says.

"Think of it as a growing experience," Spencer says.

"A chance to spread your wings," Jon adds, grinning.

"My good friends from Hallmark," Brendon laughs, cuddling closer to Ryan.

"You're all soggy," Ryan protests, frowning disdainfully.

"I sat in the park for an hour after work," Brendon says. Ryan lets out a tiny, sad whimper, and Brendon says, "I know. It's a pretty pathetic image."

"Totally," Spencer agrees. "I can just see it. Little Brendon all curled up on a bench in the rain."

"Stop," Jon says. "You're going to make me cry." Brendon laughs, reaching behind him to squeeze Jon's hip. "It's like kicking a puppy," Jon says. "If you have a heart, you just can't do it."

"Puppy," Spencer coos, nuzzling his forehead into Ryan's back. Ryan sighs contentedly as Spencer's arms wrap around him from behind, and Brendon's from the front.

"You guys are so warm," he says, burrowing deep into the embrace. Brendon kisses his temple.

"You have really soft skin," he whispers, running his palms up and down Ryan's sides. He traces sweeping patterns into Ryan's bare skin, drawing tiny hearts, and says, "Really soft." Ryan just laughs quietly, taking Brendon's hand and lacing their fingers. "Pretty boy," Brendon whispers.

Spencer smiles against Ryan's back, and Ryan can see Jon grinning behind Brendon, trying vainly to hide it. Brendon just watches Ryan's face, taking in the boy's lightly freckled cheeks, his honey eyes, his gentle smile.

"I'm just so goddamn lucky," he says. "You're just - you're perfect." Ryan smiles up at him shyly, and Brendon kisses his cheek.

"Sleep," Ryan says. "We'll start over in the morning."

-

Brendon wakes the next morning to find himself in a tangle of limbs. Ryan is draped over him, arms wrapped loosely around Brendon's waist, their legs entwined. Jon's right leg dangles precariously from the edge of the bed, and his left arm crosses over Ryan's on Brendon's chest, fingertips brushing Ryan's cheek. Spencer is curled into a tight ball against Ryan's back, snoring quietly into the boy's skin. Brendon smiles, looking around at his family. He kisses Ryan's hair, and the older boy stirs, blinking tired honey eyes up at him.

"Good morning," he whispers, and leans up to press a tiny kiss to the corner of Brendon's mouth. "Sleep okay?"

"Quite well," Brendon nods. "I always sleep best when you're around."

"Mmm, me too," Ryan says, stretching his body against Brendon's. Brendon's hands find their place at Ryan's sides, fingers trailing delicately over the skin there in tiny butterfly caresses. Ryan sighs happily.

"Pretty," Brendon muses quietly, studying Ryan's face. "You really are. I know you don't like it when I say that, but it's true. You're kind of angelic."

"Shut up," Ryan laughs. "You make me feel like a girl."

"You are a girl," Brendon says. Ryan scoffs.

"Excuse me, Miss Hips, but you're far more feminine than I am," he says. "You have childbearing hips, girlfriend."

"Fine," Brendon relents. "We're both girls." Then, as if struck by a brilliant thought, his eyes widen. "Wait," he says. "Wouldn't that make us lesbians?" Ryan stares at him, and actually considers the thought before he bursts into laughter.

"Oh my God," he gasps out between laughs. "We are."

"Spencer," Brendon hisses, reaching over to shake Spencer. "Spencer."

"Wha?" Spencer groans.

"Spencer," Brendon says seriously. "Ryan and I are lesbians."

"That's nice," Spencer mutters. Brendon stares at him incredulously, and Ryan bites his lip to keep from laughing.

"Well," Brendon says. "It's nice to know that our friends are so supportive of our lesbianism." Ryan nods, laughing behind his hand. "Personally, I think we're all lesbians."

"Like, the whole world?" Ryan asks, eyebrows raised.

"No," Brendon says, like it's quite obvious. "The four of us. We're a bunch of girls." He looks at Ryan like the older boy is utterly preposterous, and says, "'The whole world'. Right. Ryan Ross, you are a silly thing."

"You're silly," Ryan returns.

"Good one," Brendon says, trailing his fingers harder against Ryan's skin. "You know what we do to good comebacks like that? We tickle them."

"No!" Ryan squeals as Brendon's fingers move torturously over his abdomen. He squirms, begging, "Stop, stop, stop. Brendon, no. I'm gonna kick Spin in the balls if you don't -"

"Nrg," Spencer chimes in blearily. "Stop. Spin quite likes his balls unkicked, thanks."

“Mmm, me too,” Jon says, smirking as he stretches.

“Shut up,” Spencer laughs, rubbing his eyes. “Perv.”

“Ah, but Spencer Smith,” Jon says. “You benefit from my pervertedness.”

“That is true,” Spencer says.

“Um. Virgin ears,” Brendon frowns, looking mildly traumatized.’’

“Virgin everything from what I hear,” Spencer smirks, adding a quiet, “But not for long.” into Ryan’s ear.

“Low blow, man,” Brendon scowls as Ryan blushes furiously. Brendon looks at him, eyebrow quirked. “What?”

“N-nothing,” Ryan stammers.

“You’re being weird,” Brendon says.

“No,” Ryan says. “I’m not.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway,” Ryan says, clearing his throat. “Are we going to go pick up your stuff from your parents’ house today?”

“Yeah,” Brendon says. “I don’t need much. Just my clothes, really. They’ll be at work, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Good,” Ryan says. “We’ll all go, I think.” Spencer and Jon nod. Ryan squeezes Brendon’s hip comfortingly. “And then you’ll officially be ours.” Brendon smiles.

“I kind of like that idea.”

-

The drive to the Urie house is quiet and tense. Jon drives, Spencer next to him in the passenger seat. Ryan and Brendon sit in the back, hands laced tightly. Ryan squeezes the younger boy’s hand reassuringly, and Brendon gives him a shaky smile.

“This won’t be easy,” Ryan murmurs.

“Growing experience,” Brendon shrugs. “Can I just say that being an adult sucks.”

“We know, kid,” Jon says, laughing quietly. They’re all grateful for the lightening mood. Spencer reaches his arm back, and gives Brendon’s knee a gentle squeeze.

“Think of it this way,” he says. “If they’re home, we can hit them with the car.”

“’Bout the only thing this piece of shit is good for,” Jon mutters, and Ryan lets out a peal of laughter. Jon grunts, pulling into the driveway of the Urie house. “It’s,” Jon says.

“Typical,” Spencer supplies. He glances back at Brendon, and asks, “How did you come from that house?” Brendon shrugs.

“I tried not to let the suburban life taint me,” he says as they climb out of the car, slamming their doors shut behind them. Brendon climbs up the stairs of the front porch, and shoves his key in the lock, pushing the door open. “Home, sweet home,” he says dryly.

Brendon leads them upstairs to his old bedroom, and he’s surprised to find that all of his things are packed neatly into four cardboard boxes. He didn’t smell cookies when he came in, so he figures that this is what his mother’s been doing to avoid the problem.

“Huh,” he says. “Mom’s been busy.”

“I’ll say,” Jon murmurs n awe, letting out a low, impressed whistle.

“That is scary efficient,” Spencer says.

“That’s my mom,” Brendon shrugs. “Well, anyway, that makes things easier on us. Everyone grab a box.”

They work quickly, carrying the boxes containing Brendon’s whole life out to the car. It’s easy, except when Jon trips on the last step and goes flying, sending Brendon’s underwear everywhere.

“Fail,” Brendon laughs, strolling passed him.

“Cute undies,” Jon shoots back, and Brendon pouts.

When the last box is packed into the car, Brendon’s room looks strange and bare, just the skeleton of his bed and bureau to keep the blue walls company. Brendon frowns, feeling a fleeting stab of emptiness. It dissipates as soon as Ryan wraps is warm arms around Brendon’s neck from behind, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Ready?” He asks, and Brendon nods.

“Just saying goodbye,” he says. “Fresh start,” he smiles.

“You scared?”

“Not even a little,” Brendon says, and Ryan beams. “But what do you think about, uh, christening my new home?” He asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Ryan rolls his eyes, fighting the blush that threatens to creep into his cheeks.

“We’ll see,” he says, taking Brendon’s hand. “Now. Time to go home.”

“Home,” Brendon repeats, liking the way the word tastes on his tongue, how real it is. “Yeah. Let’s go home.” He laces their fingers, squeezing gently, and leads the two of them into a new life.


	21. part nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's them. Brendon's large hand delicately cupping Ryan's jaw. The point where their mouths meet. It's them, and Ryan's heart pounds in his chest as he tries to process the image before him.
> 
> NSFW!

They fall quickly into a routine after Brendon moves in. He moves his things into the guest room, which they all know is pointless because he just ends up in Ryan's room anyway. Ryan's doesn't complain, though, not when Brendon is all warm and cuddly against him in the night.

Jon's new hobby is watching the two of them together. They'll be curled up together on the couch, legs entwined, Ryan's head resting on Brendon's chest, and Jon will watch them from across the room. They'll be making dinner together, well, Ryan will be making dinner as Brendon watches his every move intently, and Jon will watch from the counter. He likes the way their fingers fit together, lacing around each other. He likes the way their jaws move when they kiss.

It makes his heart melt. He can't remember a time when Ryan smiled like he does now, easy and free, like he doesn't have a car in the world. Jon can't even be jealous, because he knows that Ryan deserves to be this happy. He knows that he's probably witnessing proof of soul mates. He just wishes he could make someone smile like that.

He talks to Ryan about it one night while Brendon's at gown fitting for graduation, and Ryan just stares at him.

"Have you never seen Spencer's smile when he's around you?" He says. "It's, like, megawatt, dude."

The next day, when Spencer comes over, and Jon is vainly attempting to make pancakes, Spencer smiles at him from the counter. Jon looks at Ryan, eyes wide.

"Oh," he says. Ryan smiles.

"Yeah."

-

June 9 comes along faster than any of them had anticipated, and now, things are hectic in the Walker-Ross-Urie household. Graduation begins in less than an hour, and everything that could go wrong is going very, horribly wrong.

"You can't wear that," Brendon and Ryan say at once, eyes Jon's outfit distastefully. He's wearing a brown sports jacket, gray striped pants, and a god awful green shirt. Jon looks indignant.

"Why not?" He says, frowning.

"We'll have to introduce you as my retarded fifth cousin," Brendon laughs, pointing at Jon's "ensemble". Jon pouts.

"I didn't think it was that bad," he says. Spencer pats his shoulder consolingly.

"It is, sweetheart," he says.

"Go put on your gray blazer, a white shirt, and dark wash jeans, okay?" Ryan orders, fussing with Brendon's tassel, which is in knots. "How did this get so tangled?" He wonders.

"Yeah, that could be from using the cap as a hockey puck with Spin," Brendon says sheepishly, scratching behind his ear. Ryan looks at him. "Er - my bad?" Brendon offers, and Ryan sighs, returning to his task.

Jon emerges from his bedroom, Spencer stumbling out after him, looking slightly ruffled, cheeks red, lips swollen. Brendon snorts.

"I said get dressed, not get laid," Ryan says. He looks Jon up and down. "Good. You look nice, Walker."

"Very smart," Brendon agrees.

"Dashing," Spencer adds, kissing Jon's cheek.

"And Ryan's impeccable fashion sense saves the day again," Ryan says, tugging the last knot from the tassel. "There," he says, looking pleased as he plops the cap on Brendon's head. "You look cute," Ryan says, and Brendon makes a face.

"I look ridiculous," he says. "I saw myself at fitting. This thing makes my ass look huge."

"Anything makes your ass look huge," Spencer says.

"Ryan," Brendon whines.

"I like your butt," Ryan says, shrugging into his jacket. Brendon beams, and Spencer rolls his eyes. "What?" Ryan says. "I do."

"Thanks, doll," Brendon grins, pecking Ryan's lips. "Yours is mighty fine as well."

"It might be getting some action soon, too," Spencer mutters. Ryan promptly gets up, and punches him square in the shoulder.

"Stop making references to me and Brendon's potential sex life," he hisses. Brendon perks up.

"I heard sex," he says.

"No you didn't," Ryan snaps. "That was your hormones addling with your young adolescent mind."

"Well, my hormones have been doing that a lot lately," Brendon says. "Or it could be that you guys were talking about sex."

"It wasn't," Ryan assures him.

"Oh," Brendon says, and Ryan can't ignore the crestfallen notes in his voice. "Okay."

"Uh," Spencer cuts in. "We should probably get going."

"Wait!" Jon cries, dashing back into his bedroom. He emerges, a camera in his hands. When they see it, the other three groan.

"Absolutely not," Brendon says resolutely. "I look fucking stupid."

"How is that different from any other day?" Spencer asks.

"I hear not your poison words," Brendon says. "For today is my parade, and you, little rain cloud, will not rain on it."

"One picture," Jon begs. "Please. It's a big day, it must be documented."

"One," Brendon relents.

"Stand with Ryan," Jon orders, holding the camera up to his face.

"What?" Ryan squawks. "How did I get roped into this?" Jon sends him a withering look, and Ryan obeys sullenly, standing with his boyfriend. Brendon tilts his chin up, and presses a soft kiss to his mouth just as the camera flashes.

"We weren't ready," Brendon pouts, blinking the stars out of his eyes. Jon shrugs, looking at the display. He smiles, and Spencer looks over his shoulder at the picture.

"You know that thing about the camera capturing people's souls?" He says.

"Totally," Jon agrees, nodding. "That's exactly what I was thinking."

"What?" Brendon says. "Let us see."

"We don't have time, B," Ryan says, tugging on Brendon's wrist. "It's pretty impractical to be late for the first day of the rest of your life."

"And tacky," Brendon says, hurrying out the front door. Spencer follows him, but when he sees Ryan and Jon hesitating, he sends them a questioning look.

"You coming?" He asks.

"We'll be right down," Ryan replies. Spencer shrugs, and follows Brendon. Ryan looks at Jon, and orders, "Show me." Jon smiles, turning the camera so Ryan can see the display.

It's them. Brendon's large hand delicately cupping Ryan's jaw. The point where their mouths meet. It's them, and Ryan's heart pounds in his chest as he tries to process the image before him.

"You're beautiful together," Jon murmurs, and, yeah, Ryan can see that. He can see the perfect way that Brendon's strong features mesh with his own softer appearance. What really gets him, though, what really makes his chest ache is the protective way that Brendon holds him close. It makes him look so fragile, so precious.

"This boy's in love with me," Ryan says. Jon nods.

"Yeah," he says. "He pretty much is."

"Oh my God, Jon. Our boy is all grown up."

"Yeah. He really is."

"It's not like we're sending him off to war," Jon laughs. "He's going to college around here, right?"

"Yeah, but he's still - he's still all grown up," Ryan frowns.

"He's kind of always been grown up."

"I think I'm - uh - going to sleep with him tonight," Ryan confesses. Jon quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Really?" He says.

"Spin and I talked about it, and I think I'm ready," Ryan says. "I mean - it feels... right, you know? And I know we love each other. I just - I don't want him to ever regret it."

"Well," Jon says. "He's obviously ready."

"Obviously."

"So go for it," Jon says, and at Ryan's dubious look, he continues, "He would never regret you. You make him feel safe, Ry. He trusts you. You're, like, his sunshine, and you know it, so just let go of your worries."

"It just feels like I'm the nervous first-timer."

"It's your first time with someone you really love," Jon says.

"I loved you," Ryan frowns. Jon shakes his head.

"Not like this," he says. "This one's the real deal, Ryan. This one's your soul mate."

"I know," Ryan says, smiling.

"You're meant to -"

"What's the hold-up?" Brendon asks, poking his head in the doorway. Ryan looks at Jon.

"Just getting tissues," Jon says. "I figure we'll all be sobbing messes so -"

"Well, hurry up, crybabies," Brendon laughs. "I gotta go graduate and shit."

"Believe us, kid," Jon says dryly. "We don't need reminding."

"Come on," Ryan says, snaking his arm around Brendon's waist. Brendon casually drapes his arm around Ryan's shoulders, pulling him closer.

As they walk out, Jon snaps another picture of them, smiling to himself.

-

The three of them are seated in the fourths row, hands folded in their laps, feeling very out of place amongst all of the parents in their section. A woman sitting next to Spencer taps him on the shoulder, looking at him inquiringly.

"Bit young to be in the parents' section, aren't you?" She asks, smiling. "Who are you here for?"

"Brendon Urie," Spencer replies. "We're his - er - family, I guess."

"Oh yes," the woman says. "He's friends with my son Brent. Isn't he this year's val -" She's cut off by the opening notes of the graduation march. Everyone in the audience turns to watch the rows of young graduates, clad in emerald and white, take their final steps into adulthood.

As he passes, Brendon catches Ryan's eye, and beams. Ryan grins back, giving him a subtle thumbs up. Once the graduates are seated on the stage, Principal Strong takes the podium.

"Welcome," he says. "I was asked to think of one word to describe the class of 2008. Now, plenty came to mind. Wonderful, perfect, outstanding, but they all seemed so generic. So I thought about it and I thought about it, and I finally came up with the answer." He gazes out into the audience, smiling. "Absurd," he says, and the graduates all laugh, permanent grins stretching their faces. "I kid you not," Mr. Strong says earnestly. "This class is the strangest bunch of kids - sorry - adults that I've ever been principal to." The audience is laughing now too, nodding their agreement. "And I now have the pleasure of introducing you to the oddest of them all. Please welcome this year's valedictorian, Brendon Urie."

"Bullshit," Jon laughs, clapping along with the rest of the audience. "Did you know about that?" He asks Ryan.

"No," Ryan says, shaking his head. Spencer lets out a loud whistle.

"Okay, okay," Brendon laughs into the microphone, holding his hands up. "Hi," he says, and the graduates behind him catcall and whistle. "Oh, hey, guys," Brendon says, turning around and waving at them. "Like the view?" He asks, waggling his backside. They laugh, covering their eyes. "Anyway, anyway. C'mon guys, let's be serious."

"Yeah, right, B," a boy in the front row calls. Brendon just laughs.

"So I'll be honest," he says. "When our beloved Principal Strong asked me to be valedictorian, I was a little bit more than surprised. I figured I was, like, 891 down on the list."

"Dude, you were," the same boy jokes. Brendon scowls at him playfully.

"This is not a group effort, Brent Wilson," he says, laughing. The boy, Brent, holds his hand up, and Brendon high-fives him. "So anyway, I was pretty much floored by the mere suggestion of it. So I asked him, Why me? And he just said, Because you love this school, Brendon. And I thought to myself, You know what, I really do. These past four years at Paolo Verde have been the best of my life. I've had the best teachers, the best classmates, the best principal." Brendon looks at Principal Strong, and says, "Seriously, man. You put the 'pal' back in 'principal'. You are the Yoda to my Luke Skywalker."

"Touched I am," Principal Strong says, and Brendon laughs.

"Now, all of this hardcore awesomeness doesn't mean that we didn't have rough times," Brendon says. "Whether is was personally or as a school, we all faced some pretty mean obstacles. But we didn't run away. We confronted them head-on, and we conquered. We grew up at Paolo Verde, and honestly, I can't be sad about leaving. Sure, I'll miss the school and everyone in it, but I've had my turn. I've got to make room for a new class to fall in love with Paolo Verde, just like I did. Just like we all did."

Brendon scans the crowd, taking a deep breath.

"These past four years, the future's been a big part of our lives. We've been bludgeoned with this terrifying, elusive idea of the future. But this right here, right now, this is that future. This is what everyone's been talking about since kindergarten. And let me tell you, I've never been this scared in my entire life. I'm standing up here, looking straight into the face of the beast. The future. The great unknown." Brendon smiles. "I got pretty lucky, though, because last year, I stumbled upon three people that made my world, my future, so bright. They're unlikely angels, but they've saved me time and time again. Before I met them, I didn't really think it was possible to have a family that didn't share your blood. In the three of the, I found a family. I found strength and love and safety. And in one of them, I found a soul mate." He searches the crowd for Ryan's face, and when he finds the crying boy, he smiles. "You've done so much for me, and two words can't sum up my gratitude, but they'll have to do. Thank you, and I love you."

Brendon glances behind him, and laughs when he sees most of his grade hunched over and in tears. "Cool," he says. "So now that I've reduced most of the Senior class to tears, I present to you the class of 2008. They're young, they're fresh, they're - er - soggy." He sweeps his arm out to show his classmates.

As Principal Strong calls names and gives out the diplomas, Ryan dabs at his eyes, Spencer sniffles loudly, and Jon wipes at his cheeks. Brent Wilson's mother is similarly affected. She rubs Spencer's back consolingly, and he gives her a soggy smile.

When Brendon's name is called, his family, the graduates, and most of the audience stands up and cheers uproariously. He gives an embarrassed wave, and finds Ryan. Their eyes meet, and Brendon mouths a quick, 'I love you'. Ryan smiles.

After he's called all of the names, Principal Strong takes the podium again. He says, "It is my absolutely pleasure, and my absolute dismay, to introduce Paolo Verde's graduating class of 2008!" The graduates leap to their feet and cheer, throwing their caps in a rainstorm of emerald and white. Brendon just stands there, cap secured on his head, smiling out into the audience at Ryan.

Jon, sniffling, takes a picture.

-

"So," Spencer says once they've found Brendon in the sea of green and white. Brendon grins, throwing his arms around his friend. "Valedictorian, B?" Spencer asks. "Really?" Brendon shrugs.

"I'm well-liked," he says.

"You're popular," Jon laughs, hugging Brendon tight, ruffling his hair. "Mr. Cool." He pulls away, gently shoving Brendon toward Ryan.

"Hi," Brendon grins, enveloping Ryan's tiny frame in a bear hug. He nuzzles his nose into Ryan's hair, and presses a tiny kiss to his temple.

"Hi," Ryan says into Brendon's shoulder. "M'so proud of you. You're all grown up."

“Hardly,” Brendon laughs. “I still like chocolate chip pancakes, Disney, and video games. I’m definitely still a kid.”

“So how come you didn’t tell us how awesome you are?” Ryan asks.

“I thought it was obvious,” Brendon smirks, bending his head down to kiss Ryan.

“Your friends -” Ryan protests.

“Know that I’m in love with a beautiful boy named Ryan Ross,” Brendon smiles, pressing his lips to Ryan’s. Ryan sighs happily, resting his forehead against Brendon’s.

“Any parties going on tonight?” Ryan asks, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“Yeah,” Brendon says. “But I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not really a partier,” Brendon shrugs. “Besides, I’d rather be at home with you.”

“Well, we can do something to celebrate at home if you want,” Ryan says. “Cake or something.”

“That’s okay. I really just want to spend time with you guys.”

“Er - actually, Bren,” Jon says. “Spin and I are going to have to decline.”

“What?” Brendon says, looking hurt. “Why?”

“We’ll let you know tomorrow,” Spencer says. “Let’s get you two home.”

Something’s going on, Brendon can see it in the wink in Spencer’s eye and the shy smile that tugs at Ryan’s lips when their eyes meet. He doesn’t know the secret, but he’s determined to find out.

-

Spencer and Jon drop them off in front of the apartment building. Brendon waits in the lobby as the other three talk in hushed voices outside. Jon says something that stained Ryan’s cheeks a pretty pink. Every now and then, Ryan will shoot an anxious glance at Brendon, who will pretend to be engrossed in something on the wall. Finally, they finish talking. Jon and Spencer wave their goodbyes to Brendon, and practically force Ryan inside.

“Sorry,” Ryan says, a little breathless, taking Brendon’s hand.

“What was that about?” Brendon asks as they climb the stairs to their apartment. Ryan laughs a little.

“Candles,” he says, rummaging in his pocket for his key. Brendon quirks an eyebrow.

“Candles?” He repeats, following Ryan inside. “Why were you talking about candles?”

“Jon has this theory,” Ryan says, shrugging out of his jacket. “About candles. He says that they make sex better, more romantic.”

“How is that even relevant?” Brendon asks, feeling more and more confused.

“Well,” Ryan laughs, unbuttoning his dress shirt. “He wants us to test his theory out.” He lets the shirt slide off his shoulders and fall in a pool of fabric at his feet.

“But we’re not even having - oh,” Brendon says as realization washes over him. “Oh. I get it now.” He looks at Ryan with wide, searching eyes. “Really?”

“If you think you’re ready,” Ryan says. “Remember, though, it’s a -”

“Big step,” Brendon finished. “I know.” He pulls Ryan close, studying the older boy’s face, looking for any trace of hesitance. “And if I’m going to take it, I want it to be with you. I want you to be my first.”

“Okay,” Ryan smiles. “Well, then go wait in the bedroom, I’ll be right in.” Brendon nods, and moves to walk away, but Ryan catches his belt loop, tugging him back. “These,” he says, pulling at the waist of Brendon’s dress pants and the hem of his shirt. “Need to come off, though.”

“Right,” Brendon says, sounding flustered. “Naked, right.” Ryan laughs, and pats Brendon on the butt as he walks away. “Objectification!” Brendon cries indignantly.

Ryan laughs to himself as he wanders over to the cabinet where they keep the candles and lighters. He retrieves two long, vanilla-scented candles and a lighter, and pads over to his shirt. He picks it up, and hangs it on the doorknob of his bedroom door, smirking as he closes the door behind him.

The sight that greets Ryan is, in a word, breathtaking. Brendon is naked but for his black boxers, and his dark hair and tan skin contrast beautifully with the white sheets. His ruby lips are parted slightly, and his eyes are dark with something that stirs something inside Ryan, triggers something mighty and ferocious in him.

“C’mere,” Ryan orders gently. Brendon slides off of the best, and slinks over to Ryan. He wraps his arms around Ryan’s waist possessively, and dips his head to capture Ryan’s lips in a heated kiss.

It’s obvious from then on that Brendon is in charge. Ryan’s totally okay with that.

Their lips move together, sliding and pressing, and Brendon lets his tongue flick out over the seam of Ryan’s lips. Ryan makes a pleased noise, and parts his lips. Brendon’s tongue pushes in, gliding silky smooth against his own, carefully exploring.

Ryan lets his hands grip Brendon’s shoulders, running them up and down the younger boy’s lean arms. Brendon pulls him closer, breaking the kiss.

“Best graduation present ever,” he says, and Ryan laughs.

“That’s just part one,” he says, pushing them backward to the bed. Brendon falls back onto the mattress, pulling Ryan on top of him. Ryan straddles Brendon’s slim hips, making sure to grind down hard against Brendon’s clothed cock. Brendon gasps, arching up, and Ryan captures his lips in another kiss. As they kiss, Ryan’s fingers travel down Brendon’s sides, stopping at the waistband of Brendon’s boxers. “For part two,” he says. “These need to go far, far away.”

“Yes sir,” Brendon says as Ryan rolls off of him. Ryan watches the younger boy shimmy out of his boxers, drinking in the newly exposed skin. Brendon pouts. “You too,” he says. Ryan nods, smiling, and tugs his underwear down off of his hips. He tries not to feel self-conscious as Brendon’s eyes rove over his naked body. “Beautiful,” Brendon whispers in awe.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Ryan smiles, climbing back into Brendon’s lap. “Now tell me what you want.”

“You.”

“Be specific.”

“I want,” Brendon says. “I want to make love to you.” He rolls them over so that he’s on top, Ryan’s legs locked around his hips. Brendon grinds his hips down, rubbing his cock against Ryan’s. They release a chorus of groans, Brendon’s low and feral, Ryan’s desperate and needy.

‘That sounds - God, yes - that sounds good,” Ryan chokes out.

“Where is -”

“Bedside table,” Ryan answers. Brendon nods, and reaches over him, returning with a condom and a bottle of look.

“I want to watch you,” he says. “You know, prepare yourself.” Ryan blushes at the thought of Brendon’s dark eyes watching as he fucks himself, watching as he groans and writhes. His cock throbs at the idea, and he takes the lube from Brendon’s hand.

Brendon situates himself at the foot of the bed, watching intently as Ryan reclines against the pillows, hesitantly spreading his legs, revealing himself. Brendon sends him an encouraging smile, and Ryan nods shakily. He squirts some lube onto his fingers, and positions the tip of his index finger at his entrance. He’s hyper-aware of Brendon’s eyes as he presses in, his own eyes slipping shut.

“Wow,” Brendon whispers in awe. Ryan whimpers a little, thrusting his finger in and out of himself. He’s never felt this turned on, this needy. He removes his first finger, and replaces it with two. He scissors them, stretching himself wide, but not wide enough.

“Ngh,” he groans, frustrated. “Brendon, get over here and help me.” Brendon is quick to obey, crawling up the bed beside Ryan. “Just -”

“I got it,” Brendon says. He slicks up his fingers, and places one at Ryan’s entrance. “Like this?” He asks, pressing his finger inside to join Ryan’s. Ryan nods, moaning quietly. Together, they move their fingers slow in and out of Ryan. The pace is agonizing, but the stretch makes Ryan squirm.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’m ready.” Brendon looks at him dubiously.

“Are you sure?” He asks, and Ryan nods, writhing restlessly. “Okay, just tell me if I hurt you or I’m doing it wrong.”

“Just go slow,” Ryan says, watching as Brendon slides the condom on, slicking himself up. He positions himself at Ryan’s entrance, gives a shaky breath, and when Ryan nods reassuringly, he pushes in. He’s careful and slow, making tiny, shallow thrusts inside.

White, hot, perfect heat engulfs him, and he’s on cloud nine as Ryan clenches around him. He stays still, letting Ryan adjust, basking in the tightness that surrounds him. Ryan’s hands comes up to cup his cheek, and their eyes meet.

Fireworks explode in Brendon’s chest, spiraling paths of warmth up and down his veins, making his heart sing sweeping melodies. He brushes his lips over Ryan’s forehead, trying not to cry out, and pulls back out.

“God,” Ryan moans, fingernails drawing little red patterns into the unmarred skin of Brendon’s back. Brendon thrusts in again, harder this time, until his pelvis meets Ryan’s skin. Ryan’s legs clench around his hips. His back arches up as he releases a loud moan when the head of Brendon’s cock brushes a hard little bud inside of him. Brendon basks in the sound, and angles his hips to find that spot again. He thrusts in experimentally, trying to find different ways of eliciting those sounds from Ryan’s lips. “More,” Ryan begs. “Harder.” Brendon shakes his head, slowing down his movements. When Ryan glares at him, he smiles, pecking the older boy’s lips.

“Love you,” he whispers as his fingers close aorund Ryan’s cock. Ryan cries out as Brendon strokes him in time with his thrusts, creating an easy, slow rhythm, eyes never leaving Ryan’s face. He brushes Ryan’s prostate with every thrust, reducing the older to a whimpering, trembling mess.

“Close,” Ryan gasps, and Brendon is too, Ryan’s clenching heat becoming too much for him to bear. He strokes Ryan faster, falling out of their rhythm, but he figures that’s okay, because Ryan is making high, desperate sounds. “Please, please,” he begs, pushing back to meet Brendon’s thrusts. His body tenses, and he gives a final cry of Brendon’s name as he comes between their stomachs. When Ryan tightens around him, Brendon gives a loud groan, throws his head back, and comes deep inside.

“God,” he groans, the muscles in his arms shaking unsteadily until they give out and he collapses beside Ryan. “Are you okay?” Brendon asks as the older boy curls into his side. Ryan nods, winding his arms around Brendon’s sweaty chest. Brendon smiles, pressing a kiss to Ryan’s damp hair. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” Ryan murmurs. “Thank you, baby.”

“For what?” Brendon asks, tracing patterns into Ryan’s back.

“This. It means a lot.” Ryan looks up at Brendon shyly, smiling. Brendon presses a light kiss to his lips.

“I was always yours, you know,” he says. “We didn’t need to have sex to make it official.”

“I know,” Ryan says. “I just. I wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That we belong together.”

“Oh,” Brendon smiles. “Yeah, I knew that already.”


	22. part twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end.

Ryan wakes to the yellow light of a Las Vegas morning. Brendon's arms are wrapped securely around Ryan's waist, holding the older boy close, a warm blanket tucked around him. Brendon is sleeping peacefully, his young face undisturbed. Ryan smiles, takes Brendon's hand, and presses tiny kisses into the younger boy's palm. Brendon doesn't stir, so Ryan carefully wriggles out of his arms. He brushes his lips over Brendon's, and Brendon smiles in his sleep.

Ryan slips out of bed, and pads out into the kitchen. Jon and Spencer are sitting at the counter, hands locked together between them, shoulders touching, quietly eating their cereal. Spencer is reading the paper while Jon watches cartoons on the tiny television over the microwave. They're very separate, but they still look like one person as Ryan watches them. He lets out a quiet laugh, and Spencer glances up from his newspaper.

"Could you, like, try not to look so well fucked, please?" He asks, eyebrows raised, voice light. "Seriously, some of us are trying to eat here." Jon snorts into his spoonful of Lucky Charms, but keeps his eyes trained on Underdog.

"So was the kid good?" He chuckles, chewing his cereal. He looks over at Ryan with twinkling eyes, and Ryan feels his heart warm. He smiles, nodding.

"It was - it was perfect," Ryan murmurs. "Did you know that boy loves me?" He asks.

"Yeah," Spencer says, and Jon smiles mutedly.

"Yeah," Jon says. "Yeah, we kind of did."

Oh, it is love  
From the first time I set my eyes up on yours  
Thinking oh, is it love?

end.


End file.
